


high up, ain't got no shame

by glitteration



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: (but also it's a foursome technically), Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Double Anal Penetration, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, affectionate humilation, banter as foreplay, cheerful polyamory for everyone, i have no secrets only dirty shame, i wouldn’t call this d/s but i would say it’s flavored with a dash thereof, it's not slut shaming so much as slut APPRECIATION, plot twist: ronan tops everyone, some light pain kink, the working gdocs title was 'the one where everybody wants to fuck lovett', this is so ridiculously extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: “I’m… thishasto be a dream. I’m dreaming, right? Because if it’snot, you arranged a threesome without telling me!”“I feel I should point out it was your idea,” he said mildly. “That mitigates the circumstances somewhat.”“My idea isstretchingit. In the absolute technical sense, yes, fine, I introduced the topic, but I thought it we both knew it was a joke like the mountain in Peru thing, or Comey and the volcano.”“Comey and the volcano?” Jon stage-whispered.Lovett ignored him. “I thought you were just extending the bit, improv style. ‘Yes, and’ and all that.”“You know, I really didn’t come away with that impression. You couldn’t tell I was serious?”“Of course not! You haveweaponizedbeing habitually non-judgmental to the point where sometimes I genuinely cannot tell when you’re fucking with me.”ORthat time Ronan got Lovett a birthday threesome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's all follow the second rule of fight club; we don't fucking talk about fight club, for values of fight club equaling "filthy porn written about real people" and values of talk about equaling "never tell those people about our very weird and admittedly invasive porn hobby, oh my fucking god".
> 
> Obligatory disclaimers dealt with: I was supposed to be working on one of a million other open projects, but my brain was like BUT WHAT IF, INSTEAD, FILTHY SUB LOVETT PORN BASED ON A FLIPPANT JOKE HE MADE DURING AN AD? YES? and thus, here we are. It's been a decade since I was in politifandom, but I guess just when I think I'm out, RPF will always pull me back in.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

Lovett looked up from his phone. “Don’t you mean for Christmas?” The words came out garbled around a mouthful of ice cream.

Ronan shook his head, translating neatly after years spent exposed to the fact that Lovett’s natural state when left to his own devices was somewhere only vaguely northwards of slovenly. “No, your birthday. I found you something for Christmas a couple months ago.”

“ _A couple months ago_?”

He shrugged. “I like to have these things done early.”

Lovett scoffed, slumping a little deeper into the couch. The worst thing about dating a disgustingly well-adjusted overachiever: despite being better at life than most people, Ronan never had the decency to be smug about it. He inevitably knew full well and didn’t particularly care that Lovett not only did _not_ already have a present, he didn’t have any standout ideas about what that present should eventually be.

Routed at all turns and without the balm of being condescended to, Lovett glared over at Ronan. He remained serenely unbothered and Lovett glared harder, spoon flicking chocolate on the couch when he shook it in entirely justified moral protest. “Even you have to know this is a new level of weird over-preparation,” he accused. “My birthday’s not for another nine months. We are literally still closer to my most recent birthday than we are to my next one. You can’t already be thinking about gifts, there’s no way I can live up to the standard that sets.”

“It never hurts to prepare. And careful with the spoon, the couch’ll stain,” Ronan added, setting his laptop aside to give Lovett the kind of big sincere eyes that say _trust me. I am Ronan Farrow, Me Too Avenger, and your life is safe in my finely boned yet capable hands_. “I’m not setting any particular standards, I’m just trying to appreciate how hard you’ve been working these last few months. If anything, I want to make sure it’s up to _that_ standard.”

“Oh yeah, I scored the HBO deal and single-handedly delivered us the House myself. In a couple months, I’ll be there to give Nancy the gavel in person.”

“Jon…”

“Why are you tormenting me?” He squirmed under the weight of Ronan’s too-earnest praise, half-tempted to chuck his ice cream at the wall and see if he might be able to escape in the chaos. “You _know_ your occasional bouts of unrestrained sincerity give me hives.”

“ _Jon_.” Ronan shook his head, like Lovett was being stubborn instead of incredibly humble and mature. “You’ve been working hard. Let me be nice to you.”

“I had no idea you liked to cosplay as some sort of… I don’t know, vaguely elven Leslie Knope when we decided to semi-regularly cohabitate,” Lovett griped, feeling the telltale itch of a flush collecting above his cheekbones. “But fine, if it makes you happy: I’m amazing. I hauled ass. I’m the coolest thing since ...something cooler than _bread_. The fact that we measure excitement via slices of bread has never made sense to me. Somebody should do something about it.”

“That’s the spirit. I’m sure if anyone can make the change, it’d be you.”

Lovett rolled his eyes as embarrassed pleasure warmed his chest. Among the reasons he could bear to date a man so skilled in so many areas (a _literal child prodigy_ , for the love of god) and so accomplished he really should crumple up in a ball of insecurity just entering his presence was Ronan's delusional belief they brought an equal amount to the table. “Just saying though, looking at how many races are still in our grasp, my standards are currently high as _fuck_.”

Magnanimous in victory, Ronan only grinned. “Well, then it’s appropriate that the sky’s the limit.”

In _that_ case.

Lovett grinned with every single one of his teeth. “I want to sacrifice Comey to a volcano to return us to the proper timeline. _Naked_.”

Ronan winced. “As much as I hate to deprive you of a naked James Comey, maybe aim a little lower than that particular sky.”

“ _I’d_ be naked,” Lovett clarified, refusing to picture the other option with all the iron in his soul. “If you’re going to indulge in a little birthday human sacrifice, you have to do it right.”

“Entirely appropriate.”

“What if I want a trip to Peru to climb Mt—“ he stopped, hunting for anything more specific than ‘the Andes’ and coming up blank, “Okay, moment of truth: I have no idea what’s in Peru other than ceviche and crashed planes full of potential Donner party reenactors, but I know they’ve got some pretty high mountains. Pretend I knew the name of the tallest one, okay?”

“If hiking Huascarán is what you really want, then we can go to Peru. But if my legs give out, I expect you to carry me.”

“Ugh, of course you know the tallest mountain in Peru’s name off the top of your head. You’re the _worst_. Anyway, if I have to carry you that’s going require too many arm days required between now and hypothetical then. Birthday threesome? I’ve never had one of those,” Lovett shot back, expecting Ronan to parry again.

Instead he just nodded agreeably, like Lovett had finally given him a viable option. “Any thoughts on who you’d like to invite?”

Lovett bolted upright. “Wait, seriously?”

“If it’s what you want, why not?”

“Because…” Lovett studied his face. He lacked any visible ‘I’m fucking with you’ tells, but that didn’t mean much. Ronan’s serious journalist face looked exactly like his pulling some real bullshit face. “It’s just…” Given the topic, he _had_ to be kidding. Lovett just settled back into the couch and dug back into his fudge ripple, indulging the bit. “No, you know what? You’re right. I’ve been working my ass off, and I deserve a birthday threesome. So, what are the logistics here? Is it you and me and some other guy, or me and two guys and you doing the big bad boyfriend in a chair directing the action porno thing?”

Ronan considered the question, brow furrowed in consideration. “Depending on the players, I can’t say either option presents a problem for me.”

“ _Really_.” That felt like the sort of thing he really ought to take issue with. It took some juggling of the carton and his phone to cross his arms over his chest, but Lovett managed it. “You’d be fine watching two other guys fuck me?”

“Provided they were the right two, yes.” Ronan cocked a brow. “Would you be fine getting fucked by two other men while I watched?”

Lovett swallowed hard, throat bobbing with a click he was sure Ronan could hear. The leftover midterm high mixed with drinks from dinner and the late hour and robbed him of the good sense to laugh and move on, like any sane adult would do. He swallowed again, and thought about—about Ronan watching, and telling him what to do—no, it’d be _them_ , Ronan telling them how to fuck him. They’d be able to move him around and Ronan would be right there to tell them all the things he’s never been able to say he wants out loud and make sure he gets them anyway, all he would have to do is say _yes_ , and he’d be safe with people he’s known for years—

“Jon and Tommy,” he blurted out, because in the weird fever swamp of his hindbrain the only acceptable candidates were apparently already obvious and he’s always had this terribly specific fantasy, waiting for Ronan to pull it from the depths with his weird reporter sex magic. “What if the guys were Jon and Tommy?”

“I wouldn’t object to either of them.”

“Oh, well then. Pencil that in,” Lovett joked, trying to force levity he didn’t even remotely begin to feel. An itchy anxiety settled into his bones, and for lack of any better excuse to move he stood to put away the barely melting carton in his hand. “Right after ‘make earth spin backwards and create the bizarro world where that’s a real possibility’.” He kissed Ronan’s head on his pass-through to the kitchen. “Seriously, all riffs on naked Comey aside I’ll keep thinking about it, okay? Ask me again in a couple months.”

 

* * *

 

Ronan never brought it up again and by March, Lovett forgot to keep waiting for that particular shoe to drop.

 _What_? Running a company was harder now that everybody was supposed to be a real grownup about it. People had _expectations_ , most of them ridiculous, and he wasn’t allowed to use the company twitter to tell them to fuck off. The world kept turning, Chuck Todd continued Chuck Todd’ing, sometimes Lovett or Leave It landed harder on labor than love, and so Lovett managed to banish The Threesome Weirdness (as he’d internally dubbed it) back to the dark recess of his sexual fantasies from whence it came.

That was something of a rookie mistake, in retrospect. In his defense, the gap between November and August is a long one even when the world doesn’t resemble an ever-spreading dumpsterfire, and _the whole idea was fucking insane_ in the first place.

Still. Perhaps there was some small merit to the accusation he should have seen it coming.

 

* * *

 

“Got some ants in your pants there, Lovett?”

Lovett narrowed his eyes, slowing the frenetic bounce of his knee to a slow foot-tap. “Shut up. It’s my birthday. Tommy, tell him he’s not allowed to be mean to me on this, the most auspicious day of my birth.”

“You’re not allowed to be mean to Lovett on this, the most auspicious day of his birth,” Tommy parroted obediently, and Lovett glared triumphantly at Jon.

“See? Here, class, we have Tommy Vietor. Today he’ll be modeling how to be a _good_ friend set against Jon Favreau, who is objectively terrible.”

“I didn’t say they were _pejorative_ ants,” Jon argued fondly. “If you want to cut out early to go hang out with your boyfriend, nobody’s going to blame you.”

“I am an _adult_ and my pants are antless. I can put in a half day at the request of my so-called friends, _even though I had not intended to_ because as was previously mentioned, it’s my birthday,” he said darkly. Of course he wanted to go home—he hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place, but Ronan said the office called. He refused to call them back and say Lovett was temporarily dead, _and_ he had forced Lovett into a clean t-shirt before shoving him into Tommy’s somehow already waiting car. The indignity was almost too much to bear. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m perfectly calm.” Jon made an amused little noise and Lovett chucked a pad of post-its at his head. “Look, shut up. If you guys think I need to come in for this meeting of course I’m going to be here, but Ronan’s been very mysterious about what he got me this year and he’s as disgustingly good at presents as he is at everything in life. And it might be said I shouldn’t have to be here regardless, because—”

“It’s your birthday,” Jon sang out, and gave him an obnoxiously broad grin. “You keep saying.”

“It should be a quick in and out kind of thing, don’t worry.” Tommy patted his back sympathetically. “I’ll drive you home after.”

Lovett did his best to pay attention, but if anything important enough he absolutely had to leave home to hear it came up he certainly didn’t catch it. The only thing he looked away from his phone long enough to notice was when Jon excused himself to make a call and never came back.

“That absolutely shameless bastard,” he complained on the ride home, tapping out the beat to the _River Kwai_ theme on his knee. “He made me come into work, he gave me crap all morning, and then he didn’t even say goodbye before he ducked out the back and texted me ‘sorry, nbd so don’t worry but tell everybody I have something to take care of’. _N-b-freaking-d_. I guess now we leave the office like thieves in the night even though it is my _birthday_.”

“What a jerk,” Tommy murmured, amused. “Do you really have the text memorized already? Jesus, Lovett.”

“Not important.” Of course he had the text memorized. “And _another_ thing—” There was enough wrong with Jon to fill the rest of the ride, his mind less on those various deficiencies and Tommy’s continued quiet sarcasm and more on whatever it might be Ronan had waiting at home. “Oh hey, we’re here.”

“You noticed.” Tommy killed the engine, coming around to grab Lovett’s door for him while he crafted the finishing touches on a string of alternately obscene and threatening emojis for Jon. “Come on, birthday boy. This is our stop.”

 _Our_. Lovett mouthed the word, then shrugged and hit send. Whatever, maybe there was a rogue chivalry virus going around. If he wanted to walk Lovett the couple yards up to the house like they were coming back from prom, that was… a strange life choice, sure, but kind of sweet in the measured sort of way Tommy did everything.

“Nice of you to walk me to my door,” he faux-simpered, groping sightlessly in his bag for his keys. Tommy flushed, and Lovett’s eyes narrowed. “You’re being weird, just to put that out there.”

“If you say so.” Lovett very much _did_ , but Tommy continued before he could let him know. “So, you excited?” He leaned against the wall by the door, one hip cocked to hold him up.

“Yep.” He popped the p obnoxiously, then glanced down at where Tommy’s pale hand brushed against his leg, feeling the heat seep through his sweats. Years of exposure and necessity made him very good at ignoring exactly how attractive his best friends are, but with Tommy stretched out lean and long and a hairsbreadth from touching him the carefully enforced willful denial frayed around the edges. “Ronan is _really_ good at gifts,” he said, jerking his gaze away and fumbling with the lock.

Tommy’s mouth twitched. “You’ve mentioned.”

“So sue me, I told you I was excited, and you’re the assholes who made me come to work today at all. At least you’re being nicer about it than Jon.”

The twitch bloomed into a grin. “You have _also_ mentioned that. A couple times, actually.”

“Okay, watch it. My favor is a fickle beast, and it can be withdrawn at my whim. I’m feeling pretty whimful today, I wouldn’t push it.”

“‘Whimful’, huh?”

“Shut up, I’m _tired_.” The lock clicked, and after a moment of fruitless waiting for Tommy to make his excuses and head back to the car Lovett sighed. “If this is a surprise party, I’m murdering everyone in there. Come on in, I guess.”

No one popped out to scream happy birthday at him like there would be terrible consequences if anything but merry-making followed, and Lovett heaved a sigh of relief. His keys made a satisfyingly petulant clunk when he tossed them into the bowl near the door. “Look, I hate to be rude—”

“No, you don’t.”

“Not in general, no,” he acknowledged, “but I’m trying to couch ‘can I help you with something or am I allowed to tell you to get out in ten minutes under threat of violence’ in the kindest possible terms regardless, as a sign of my deep maturity—what the hell?” He broke off to stare as Jon emerged from the kitchen, beer in hand.

“Hey.” He raised the bottle in casual greeting. “Honey, you’re home.”

Lovett could have strangled him.

“ _I’m_ home? What about you, what the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded. In lieu of any possible rational explanation, a horrifying thought occurred. “Did you leave work earlier than me to come to my house to give me shit while I open my present too? ...now, I don’t know _why_ exactly you’d do that, because that’s the behavior of the truly insane, but it’s all I’ve got right now.”

“A little Alex Jones of you, don’t you think?”

“A thoroughly unfair characterization, and pointedly _not_ a no!” Lovett felt another surge of righteous fury course through him. “You better believe twitter will hear about this, and they will take _my_ side. You will _actively fear_ checking your DMs. Your mentions will be Cher-goddamned-nobyl for the rest of your life, it’ll be like Huckabee’s kid and the dog.”

“Lovett—“

“I’m not kidding, I hope you know that. I’ll get Chrissy fucking Teigen in on this and then you’ll really be sorry.”

“Easy, I come in peace. No need to let slip the dogs of war.” He stepped closer, raising a hand in appeasement. “Happy birthday, Lovett. I’m sorry I cut out early. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“You’re damn right you will.” Jon made a face like Lovett had said something _hilarious_ , but what the hell was so funny was apparently a private joke. Lovett narrowed his eyes and tried to organize the whys and wherefores into something resembling a logical explanation for why two of his closest friends chose his birthday to suddenly lose their minds. “Okay, if you’re not here to be a dick I am once again stuck on why you’re here at all. … _and_ why Tommy’s here, to be frank. No offense, Tommy.”

“None taken.”

“You’re both a gentleman and a scholar. Back to the point: how did this become a group activity?”

“Your present.”

Ronan followed Jon out of the kitchen, bare feet soundless on the tile. Lovett spared a moment to wonder how exactly he managed to reel in a living, breathing GQ ad—bare feet and immaculate slacks is the sort of combination that would make him look like a little kid playing dress up, not whatever the hell you call the WASP version of devil may care.

“Yes, and?” he asked, shaking off the urge to turn to Jon and Tommy and demand an explanation for depriving him of a single second of the glorious spectacle of Ronan barefoot and in dress pants. “I’m clearly not following that line of reasoning at all. Maybe you’re going to have to try and speak in fewer riddles, throw in a detail or two for good measure.”

“You told me you wanted a threesome for your birthday,” Ronan said. “With Jon and Tommy.”

“And as you made very sure we knew, it’s your birthday,” Jon broke in. “So here we are.”

For a long, painful second, all Lovett could do was blink, blink again, then again, and again and again and again until he probably looked like one of those weird dashboard toy googly-eyed monstrosities. The thought pained him to his very soul, but certain allowances had to be made while mentally reorganizing and recontextualizing every interaction he’s ever had in order to make sense of a world suddenly landed in the sexual version of the Upside Down. 

“You...” he jabbed a finger at Jon threateningly, then sighed and dropped his hand back to his side. “I’m too poleaxed about this whole thing to stay pissed. You… I’ll deal with you in a second.” Ignoring Jon’s muttered _nice word_ , he swung back to Ronan. “I’m… this _has_ to be a dream. I’m dreaming, right? Because if it’s _not_ , you arranged a threesome without telling me!”

“I feel I should point out it was your idea,” he said mildly. “That mitigates the circumstances somewhat.”

“My idea is _stretching_ it. In the absolute technical sense, yes, fine, I introduced the topic, but I thought it we both knew it was a joke like the mountain in Peru thing, or Comey and the volcano.”

“Comey and the volcano?” Jon stage-whispered.

Lovett ignored him. “I thought you were just extending the bit, improv style. ‘Yes, and’ and all that.”

“You know, I really didn’t come away with that impression. You couldn’t tell I was serious?”

“Of course not! You have _weaponized_ being habitually non-judgmental to the point where sometimes I genuinely cannot tell when you’re fucking with me.” Ronan nodded with sympathetic understanding Lovett could only feel was a cover for secretly enjoying his pain. “And beyond that, I was drunk! And eating ice cream. You couldn't have expected me to take you seriously under those circumstances.”

“So you aren’t genuinely interested in sleeping with the two of them?” Lovett hesitated long enough Ronan read the answer on his face. “That’s what I thought. Have you changed your mind since then? It’s all right if you have.”

Tommy saved him from needing to answer. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He squeezed Lovett’s arm, eyes warm on his. “If you’re not comfortable with this, nobody’s going to make it weird. I can drive Jon back to the office and you guys can figure something else out, we see each other at the office tomorrow and give each other shit like always. Your call, Lovett. You want us to go?”

“No, it’s not—asking me to make that choice presupposes _you_ want to do this!”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said steadily. His thumb rubbed little circles on Lovett’s inner arm, just above the elbow.

“We both are,” Jon added.

Ronan cleared his throat softly. “Which brings us back to: are _you_ still interested, Jon?”

“This is so fucking nuts,” Lovett muttered, fisting his hands in his hair and hating himself as he cast around for reasons not to just take something he unquestionably wanted. “Is this even _okay_? With, you know… having the necessary permission slips signed, or something to that effect.”

Tommy nodded. “Hallpass given.”

“Same. Emily said, and I quote, ‘get some, tell Lovett I said happy birthday’.” Jon chuckled. “It was both weird and very reassuring.”

“So fucking nuts,” Lovett repeated. Static seemed to fuzz everything out, the unreality of the moment smacking him in the face all at once. “ _Nuts_ ,” he said again. Taking a deep breath, he shook the sensation off and took the proverbial leap. “But yeah, of course it’s a yes. What am I, stupid? You two look like you stepped out of a Log Cabin Republican’s tasteful yet suggestive hunks of the month calendar, it’s honestly a crime against humanity. You have no idea the lengths I had to go to in order to not get creepy about it when we first met. We’re talking Olympic gold level repression. Lots of drunken complaining.”

Tommy wrinkled his brow. “I can’t decide if I’m complimented or offended.”

Jon was more direct. “You’re comparing us to those assholes, Lovett? Really?”

“I call ‘em like I literally see ‘em.” He shrugged. “Tommy is among the whitest men alive, and despite our ever-continuing march forward into old age, you consistently look like you’re going to ask me if I know where you can buy an emergency keg.”

“Definitely both,” Tommy decided aloud.

“It’s like…” Inspiration struck, and he waved an arm in emphasis. “Let’s say you’re both shirts: Jon is a polo shirt, probably with a popped collar, and you’re one of those linen ‘I’m serious, but not _too_ serious’ blue dress shirts, Tommy,” Lovett continued, warming to the topic. “It’s a little disgusting how much my type you both are. It’s like you’re doing it on purpose, sometimes.”

“Not sure why we’re shirts or why I’m so tempted to ask what color polo I am, but so I’m clear: that’s a yes?”

“Millennial pink,” Lovett responded immediately, and cast Jon a disdainful look. “Of course it’s a yes. When the fulfillment of your most repressed but apparently long-running fantasies calls, you answer.”

“I knew I was your fantasy.” Unperturbed, he grinned. “Honestly, it sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this in general, Lovett. I’m flattered.”

“Shut up.” The banter, accomplishable: the action, less so. Lovett fidgeted a little, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “So. We’re gonna do this, huh?”

“Seems like.” Jon rocked back on his heels. He inhaled deeply, and nodded decisively. “Right, okay. Enough high school bullshit,” Jon muttered, lunging forward to grab Lovett just a little bit too hard, fingers biting into his side. He reeled him in, five burning points of contact cementing the reality of the situation in the space between one breath and the next. “C’mere, Lovett.”

Lovett felt the words rumble in his own chest, pressed close as they were. He’d spent enough time watching Jon drunkenly pick up random women in random bars to know what these moves look like from the _outside_ , but he may have undervalued their effectiveness, chalking the return rate up to booze and the ‘did I mention, I work for Obama’ glow. Jon was actually good at this, he realized breathlessly, feeling a moan build up in his throat.

“Well?” he snarked, trying not to sound anything but imperious and failing miserably. “I thought you said no more high school shit.”

This close up, Jon’s smiled transformed into something softer. “Getting there. Relax, Lovett, we have all night.”

He stole Lovett’s undoubtedly sparkling rejoinder along with his breath and higher brain function when he leaned in to kiss him, confident like they’ve been doing this for years. Jon was _really_ good at this, Lovett had to amend when he adjusted to the height difference and deepened the kiss. He slid his hand under the back of Lovett’s shirt to spread out wide on his lower back, encouraging Lovett to exaggerate the unconscious little forward jolts of his hips.

Lovett licked his lips when they broke apart, feeling the beginning of telltale swelling. Jon’s mouth looked red already, gleaming wet, and Lovett’s cock jumped in his pants as he wondered if that’s what he looked like after a kiss, what he'd look like after sucking cock.

“Hey, Lovett.” Tommy cleared his throat. “Can I get in on that, too?”

“What is this, a garden party? Get over here, already.” He gestured impatiently at Tommy, brows arched. Never mind that just a kiss ago, he’d been shuffling his feet like an awkward middle schooler himself; that was _then_ , before he’d fully processed this was actually happening. Crossing that monumental rubicon meant realizing only an idiot would refuse to wring all the juice out of this particular fruit.

Tommy nodded, mirth tucked in the crinkling at the edges of his eyes. “Not a garden party, got it.” He pulled Lovett in, staring down at him for a long moment. "Hey. Happy birthday." He closed the gap between them to brush their mouths together, once, twice, three times, before he slipped his tongue past Lovett’s lips.

“God, that’s hot,” Jon breathed, and Lovett moaned in agreement.

He couldn’t help but compare them, with each first kiss coming this close together. Tommy was much gentler than Jon’s brash confidence, but methodical in a way that made Lovett’s head spin. It felt like he was studying each moment, learning what worked and slowly recalibrating until Lovett found himself clinging to his biceps, a whisper away from a half-swoon like the front cover of a romance novel.

Tommy held him a moment longer than he kissed him, eyes shut and forehead pressed tight against Lovett’s. It brought the intimacy of the moment home, reminding Lovett what they’re about to do.

His breath came faster, nerves and excitement so blended they were virtually indistinguishable. Throat dry, Lovett looked instinctively to Ronan. Knowing the general shape of what he wanted didn’t mean he knew how exactly to start this thing off, and given how thoroughly Ronan liked to prepare for the smallest things in life there was zero chance he hadn’t warned Tommy and Jon exactly what role Lovett wanted him to play in the proceedings.

Ronan smiled, immediately understanding his unspoken question. Lovett smiled back, and for a moment there were only the two of them in the room, even with Tommy pressed snug up against him; then Ronan nodded, and Lovett tensed in anticipation. “All right, then.” He cleared his throat, sounding polished as ever. “Jon, Tommy… why don’t the two of you sit down?” His voice warmed with the beginnings of gentle, honeyed commands. It’s the voice he uses when they’re going to do the kind of stuff in the bedroom he definitely never pictured Jon and Tommy knowing about, let alone participating in. “And Jon… take off your clothes. Then how about you get on your knees for us?”

The order was clear, phrased as a question or not.

Lovett hastened to comply, taking care to grab at his socks when he yanked off his sweats and boxers. Naked in nothing but gym socks was another look he’d never be able to pull off, along with hopping around naked like a fucking moron trying to get his socks off because he forgot the all at once technique. Life lessons, learned the hard way in far more dorm rooms and shitty hotels on the campaign trail than he likes to remember.

He tossed his clothes in a careless heap behind the couch, struggling not to let his shoulders bow inward. Painfully aware he’s hard as a rock and way less fit than everyone else in the room, Lovett coughed and wondered for a split second if he was making a terrible mistake.

“ _Fuck_.” A look at the couch soothed most of the lingering anxiety. Red burned high on Tommy’s cheekbones and Jon looked a little dazed. Lovett’s cock twitched against one thigh, then smeared a trail of precum along the same line when Tommy echoed Jon’s low expletive.

Ronan gave him an encouraging nod. “Now, why don’t you show Tommy how good you are with your mouth?”

Lovett practically gave himself rug burn in his eagerness to fall to his knees in front of Tommy, shoulders pushing his legs a further apart. He ran his hands up his thighs, fumbling at the zipper in his excitement.

“There’s a good boy. Pull him out, then keep your hands by your sides.”

Lovett pulled Tommy free from his boxers, admiring the way his fist looked sliding up and down the shaft. He was longer than Ronan, and thinner; not by much, but enough that Lovett swallowed hard thinking about taking him. Leaning in to rub his cheek against him, Lovett inhaled deeply, enjoying the way Tommy’s own breath came faster above him. His chin bumped his fist awkwardly, belatedly reminding him of Ronan’s instructions. He let go, allowing Tommy’s cock to paint a sticky trail across his face. He did it again, and again, until his face was wet and Tommy humped the air with inelegant need.

“Jesus,” Tommy breathed out, desperate. “Come on, man, you gotta... ”

“I gotta what?” He didn’t bother to try and sound innocent, just rolled his face into Tommy’s groin again, tongue darting out to lick a wet stripe across his cock when it came back in range.

“Mother _fuck_. Suck me, Lovett, _please_.”

It’s tough to smirk around a mouthful of dick, but Lovett has always liked to think he can manage it just fine. Riding high on Tommy’s responses, Lovett pushed down as fast as he would have with Ronan and nearly gagged, like he was a green college freshman and not a thirty something year old man with plenty of experience giving head, thank you very _much_. He had to pull back, sputtering, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“You okay?” Tommy’s hips stilled. When Lovett ignored him and went to try again, he used the hand in Lovett’s hair to pull him up that last crucial inch. “Hey, stop.” Lovett whined an offended protest, tugging against his grip until it started to hurt. “Knock it off, asshole, I’m trying to… I don’t know, be a gentleman about this.”

Ronan smiled from his armchair, gentle as the heat flaring in his eyes was not. “It’s all right, Tommy, Jon’s just needy. Tell him how pretty he looks, he’ll settle down and remember to take it slow.”

Tommy stroked a hand over his cheek, rubbing at the side of his cock where it pressed snug up against the seal of his lips. “Is he right, Lovett?” His voice was low, considering, like Lovett was a puzzle he was only a few pieces away from solving. “Do you need to hear how pretty you are, sweetheart?” Slowly, he started to move again, using his fingertips to pet the nape of Lovett’s neck in approval when he took a slower approach to showing off his hard-earned ability to deep throat.

“I always knew you were a slut for compliments,” Jon picked up the thread, slipping off the couch to kneel behind Lovett. He nudged Lovett’s knees apart to allow his own between them, denim covered cock snug up against his ass. “ _Jesus_ ,” he bit off succinctly, and ran a possessive hand along Lovett’s flank before continuing, “but I didn’t figure it went _this_ far. If I tell you how pretty you look with a cock in your mouth, are you gonna make those noises for me, too?”

“He’ll sound even better later. Jon's not particularly good with his words once he’s getting fucked, but I’ve never had a problem with it. He more than makes up for it with his other talents.”

Lovett’s face burnt all the way up to his ears at the fond indulgence in Ronan’s voice, like he was a favored pet whose quirks must be indulged. Ronan had a diplomat’s precision no matter what the context; he _knew_ what it did to Lovett when he talked like that, and he definitely knew Jon would be quick to pick up on it.

“He likes it that much?” Tommy’s voice was strained.

Ronan’s grin was sharp. “More.”

“Lovett, quiet for once. And not just because he’s too stuffed full of Tommy’s cock to form words,” Jon said. He sounded intrigued—he sounded like this was a strategy meeting, and Monday staff roundups were forever going to be intrinsically sexual if he didn’t knock it off. “I always pictured you as never shutting up no matter what, but this… this is a lot better.” He ruffled Lovett’s hair, insulting casual like he wasn’t practically fondling his dick with his other hand. “Sex-stupid is a good look on you. You ever fuck him hard enough he just goes quiet?” He directed his last words at Ronan, but his eyes never left the slow movement of Tommy’s cock in and out of Lovett’s mouth.

“Only when he’s been a very good boy. It takes a lot of work to satisfy him, doesn’t it Jon?”

Lovett mumbled an embarrassed agreement, moaning when Tommy’s hips jerked forward in response. “If the two of you can spare a second, should I just…” He gestured down at Lovett’s head. “I already had the whole car ride here to get keyed up, and he’s _really_ good at this.” Damn right he was. Lovett preened a little, sucking harder and pushing his head up into Tommy’s hand in hope he’d take the hint. “God _damn_ it—seriously, man, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt him.” Ronan gave voice to Lovett’s indignance, but he flicked Tommy’s hip with one finger to emphasize the words for good measure. This was his birthday gangbang, and Tommy was not allowed to ruin it by being too nervous to really go for the gold. “Jon, are your hands where they’re supposed to be?” Guiltily, he snuck them back down to his sides. “There we go. Just go ahead fuck his face, Tommy, it’s what he’s trying to get you to do.”

“All right, then.” Tommy sounded nervous, but his hands were sure, tightening their hold in his curls. One thumb traced Lovett’s cheek reverently. “If that’s what you want, I can do that.”

It took him a few strokes to figure out the right balance between pushing his hips up and Lovett’s face down, but with the same disgustingly predictable precision he does everything he found it before long. “ _Fuck_ ,” he ground out, “ _Fuck_. God, Lovett.” Lovett sucked harder, stroking his calves encouragingly, and his strokes started to go ragged. “You really do look so beautiful, baby, so fucking beautiful.”

Lovett’s moan pushed him over the edge. Tommy came with a low, cracked groan, lashes fluttering down to blend in with his cheeks. His hands tightened in Lovett’s hair in a convulsive surge before he let go and stroked them in apology. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, sounding drugged. “Here, stop, I want to…” Ignoring him, Lovett continued to suck gently until Tommy pulled him off his cock and leaned down to kiss him, mouth wet and helpless.

White glinted at the corner of his mouth when he pulled away. Jon thrust forward, _hard_ , bringing Lovett’s cock into contact with the scratchy fabric of the couch. He whimpered at the sensation after nothing but air, hands tightening on Tommy’s calves.

“ _Goddamn_.” Jon dropped his head to rest on the back of Lovett’s neck, lungs working like a bellows. “I gotta fuck you, Lovett. Like, right fucking now. You want that, sweetheart,” he crooned, when Lovett’s own breath caught on a needy whine at the words. “You want me to fuck you, see if I can do it good enough you go quiet? Gonna do it, gonna fuck you so goddamned good Lovett, you’re gonna fucking love it.”

“If I can interrupt?” Only Ronan could sound like a PBS special with his cock hard enough to cut diamonds. “Maybe the bedroom might be a better place for that.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jon nearly garroted himself with his own henley attempting to get naked before they hit the hallway. Giving up with a disgusted grunt he attached himself to Lovett, using his apparently hidden until now octopus arms to be everywhere at once. Tommy and Ronan followed behind at a more sedate pace, not bothering to hide their grins.

“Gonna fuck you,” Jon muttered, entirely oblivious to everything but his newfound cephalopod powers, nosing at the skin behind Lovett’s ear and nearly sending them both to the floor for the seventh time. “Come on, Lovett, hurry up.”

“I’d go a lot faster if you quit trying to touch the entirety of my person all at once at the same time,” Lovett shot back, entirely without heat. “Oh thank god, we’re here. Why is the room so far away? It’s usually not this far away.”

“Can’t imagine what might have altered your perspective,” Ronan said, taking a seat in the armchair he clearly dragged in once he’d handed Lovett off to Tommy and got down to the business of thoroughly committing secret threesome collusion. “Jon, why don’t you get yourself ready, save us some time while you wait for the boys to join you?”

When he turned to the side, the lube was on the bedside table and not hidden in the bottom drawer like god and guilt demanded. “Overachiever,” Lovett accused him fondly, popping the cap and drenching his fingers. “It’s going to take them each about three and a half seconds to strip, this is the worst excuse in the world to watch me finger myself. I’m not complaining, mind you—” Lovett inhaled sharply as he slid one fingertip in, bearing down gently but fast enough to feel the slight burn of tight flesh giving way to his hands. He loved getting fucked more than some of his boyfriends in DC found seemly, but the other side of the equation still held plenty of its own attraction. “But a time-saving measure, this is not.”

“I’m guessing the quiet part comes later in the game?” Ronan smiled at him and Jon flushed, looking away like a kid caught looking at porn. “Just saying, he still seems pretty chatty to me.” He let out a strained chuckle, finally stepping free of his pants.

“Oh, he does just fine until he gets a cock in him. You’ll see. Won’t he, Jon? Tell him.” Lovett choked on his own breath, grinding down onto his fingers harder at the tone of blasé amusement in Ronan’s voice. “What was that? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch it.”

“I do just fine,” Lovett said after a much-needed moment to reboot his brain and remember what the hell Ronan had said in the first place.

“Not me,” Ronan said, nodding Jon’s way. “Him. And that wasn’t exactly what I said, was it Jonathan?”

 _Fuck_. Lovett swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. “Yeah. Yeah, no, it wasn’t. Sorry, I’ll do better.”

“I know you will.” Ronan tipped his head towards Jon. “He might not, though.”

“Sorry, Jon, I’ll do better.” Jon made a small, anguished noise, and Lovett watched in fascination as his cock jerked and spit precum across his abs. He nodded a silent acceptance of the apology, and Lovett finished, “I do just fine until I get a cock in me.”

Jon’s nod was a violent slash of motion, eyes following him with the kind of rapt attention usually reserved for presidents and prophets. “Noted.”

He kept staring at Lovett like he was some sort of porn god, or a feast so overwhelming Jon couldn’t help but mentally stall out around deciding where to dig in first. It made his skin itch and his stomach churn with the kind of desperate arousal that bordered on nausea as the room seemed to get hotter and hotter around them and Jon just _stood there_ , staring. At least Tommy sat his naked ass down on the bed to appreciate the show from up close. Stilling the motion of his fingers, Lovett finally ordered peevishly, “If you’re not gonna fuck me like you promised, you need to stop looking at me like that, it’s getting weird.”

“So it’s not my dick being out that’s weird, just my face?”

“I mean, _I_ wasn’t going to say it…” he trailed off delicately, bringing up one shoulder in a ‘ _poor thing, we thought you knew_ ’ shrug.

Jon laughed, an incredulous bark of sound. “You have no idea, do you?”

“None at all,” Ronan affirmed, shaking his head.

“ _How_?” Jon demanded, staring at him with what Lovett could swear was his ‘ _tell me which asshole said that shit on Fox—I’ll take a swing at a fucking senator Tommy, I don’t give a fuck_ ’ expression.

“It’s rude to talk over people on their birthdays, especially when they’ve got their fingers up their own ass for your amusement,” Lovett said archly. He slipped a third finger in and sighed briefly. “Now, what do I have no idea about, exactly— _oof_!”

His breath rushed out as Jon launched himself onto the bed, landing with his face in Lovett’s abdomen. “Come on, Lovett, you have to know already.” He missed a patch near his jaw shaving that morning, and it rasped along Lovett’s side.

He shuddered, short of breath for reasons that had nothing to do with Jon’s weight restricting his ability to breathe from the diaphragm. “Have to know what?”

“How fucking hot you are,” Jon breathed, nuzzling at the pale flesh near his belly button.

“I’m an intellectual giant trapped in the mortal form schlubby Jew who barely made his HBO goal weight,” Lovett corrected, wanting to squirm away and hide from the weight of his open admiration. “Let’s not oversell the property here, so to speak—what the hell, Favreau?” The crack to the side of his ass was more a surprise than it was painful. He rubbed the spot with his free hand and complained anyway, just for the principle of the thing. “ _Ow_ ,” he said carefully. “Asshole.”

“You know, for a guy who bitches we don’t compliment you enough, you sure can’t take them for shit.”

“Uh, yeah, have you _met_ me? I crave approval to my very marrow at the same time I will attend a meeting of CrossFit enthusiasts to avoid compliments with an emotional resonance that strikes me above ‘nice shoes’. That’s my whole thing. It’s counterintuitive and leaves me vaguely certain one day everything is going to collapse, which I like to think gives me a competitive edge now that it all is.”

“Jesus Christ, Lovett,” Tommy said from above them, momentarily stunned.

“Privilege of an artist’s delicate temperament,” he said. “Something neither of you’d know anything about. You know, Jon, if you really want me to shut up there are some things you could be doing right now other than probing the depths of my psyche.”

“Probing?” Part of Jon seemed stuck a few sentences back, but he snickered. “That’s low-hanging fruit and you know it.”

“Says the man not three inches from my balls.”

“I’m gonna have to fill your mouth to get you to quiet down again aren’t I?” He jammed three fingers in Lovett’s mouth, wide enough together to force him to work at not turning into a sloppy mess already. “Here, suck.” It was too much, and _perfect_. Jon’s fingers tasted like salt—Ronan’s ridiculously expensive tortilla chips to go with his long-abandoned beer, probably, and leave it to Ronan to play perfect host no matter what the situation. He lost himself in it, fucking down onto his fingers as much as he was able with Jon trapping his forearm in place. “Yeah, there you go, work ‘em deeper. Come on, Lovett, that’s just… fuck. All we have to do is fill both your holes and you’re happy, aren’t you? Jesus, you’re a slut.”

Lovett rolled his eyes up to give Jon a baleful glare, one brow arched in an obvious reminder of the promises made during their mad dash from couch to bedroom, and that the only thing filling his ass had absolutely no relation to Jon.

Jon yanked his fingers away and kissed him, sloppy and untrained. “Can I fuck you?”

“That _was_ the idea, you’re the one who held off,” Lovett pointed out, ready to burst out of his skin with impatience.

“Lovett… now,” Jon said, something dangerous and quiet in his voice. “Are you ready for me to fuck you _right now_.”

Humor fled, and Lovett’s heartbeat kicked back up. “Roll over a little.” When Jon obeyed, he rotated his wrist and pumped his fingers in and out, harder than he had been. It burned, and Jon was… Lovett looked down and fucked himself harder. It would be too much, probably, but not so far on that edge of the line he’d regret it in the morning. “We’re good. I can take it.”

“Good.” He held his hand up. “Suck again then get your fingers out, I want to feel for myself.”

“I thought you said—” Lovett grumbled, as he found his tongue held in place by Jon’s fingers again.

“I changed my mind.”

“Jon?” They both looked up. Ronan smiled and clarified, “ _My_ Jon. Things started moving too fast to mention it earlier, but I just wanted you to know they’re both clean. And they know you are, too. So unless you’d like to use protection...”

The world went white and fuzzy around the edges. _Oh_ , Lovett thought, stupidly. _Oh_. He hadn’t thought that far down the path. Jon will fuck him, and come in him, and then Tommy will do the same, and Jon had said _all night_ —he’ll be so full it won’t stay inside, it’ll leak down his legs and they’ll see—they’ll add _more_ —

God, he’s going to be _filthy_.

“No condoms,” he said thickly around Jon’s fingers, the words emerging a garbled mess of syllables.

“What was that?” Jon’s chin dimple flashed.

Lovett narrowed his eyes. Shaping each word carefully, he said louder than the first time, “I _said_ , no condoms.”

“You don’t have to shout.” Jon withdrew his fingers and reached down between Lovett’s legs, teasing the rim of his hole with wide eyed fascination before sinking two fingers in down to the last knuckle.

Lovett exhaled sharply, cock slapping his belly. His anger fled, replaced by hazy pleasure. “Fuck,” he groaned, rolling his head to the side until his nose nearly brushed Tommy’s knee. Tommy stroked his hair, working his fingertips through sweaty curls to scratch lightly at his scalp. Between the heat and his hands, it felt like being on the really good Headband he’d smoked in college. Lovett closed his eyes, drawing in a deep lungful of air. “Jon, you said you’d fuck me.”

“I’m gonna, Lovett,” Jon promised him, sounding almost drunk on the idea. “Gonna slip right in and fill you up just like you need, I already know you’re gonna look so good taking it, so fucking pretty split open on my dick.”

Lovett whined, a high animal sound he wasn’t particularly proud of. Jon didn’t seem to mind. He corkscrewed his fingers, dragging another wounded, needy sound from his chest.

Tommy’s hand hit the bed with a dull thud. “Enough, man. Look at him.” Lovett stared up at them both, begging mutely. “Just give it to him already, Jon. For Chrissakes.”

“You want me to listen to Tommy, baby,” he kissed Lovett’s sweaty hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt, “you want me to fuck you?”

“If you don’t put your dick in me right the fuck now,” Lovett said seriously, “I will actually go on Chapo next time somebody on twitter asks and I will make sure they do a live show just so I can read your cell number out loud to every single one of their delightful listeners.”

Jon threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Only you, Lovett. Only fucking you.”

He surged up Lovett’s body, dick dragging a hot line up one thigh. “Come on, spread a little wider for me.”

The tip of his cock kissed Lovett’s hole, and he could feel himself clenching on that barest sliver of what he needed. He struggled to yank in breath, pushing back up against Jon’s hold to try and get more.

“Christ, Ronan wasn’t kidding. You really do fucking love taking cock, don’t you?”

Unable to deny it, Lovett nodded a jerky yes and stared up helplessly, begging Jon with every fiber of his being to just _fuck him_.

Jon’s pupils were blown, sweat finally starting to gather at his temples. “Look at you, so hungry you’re gagging for it… so fucking hot, you don’t even know.”

He rolled his hips, a shallow thrust that only served to stoke the fire higher, not slake it. He did it again, then again when Lovett whined like a kicked dog and did his level best to throw him off and put Jon’s goddamned cock in his ass _himself_ , if necessary. He laughed and made the slow roll a gentle in and out, the tip of his cock opening his rim only to pull away once again. He didn’t even break much of a sweat, the sadistic bastard, while Lovett started to soak the sheets.

“Would you fucking just _do it_ , quit screwing around and fuck me,” Lovett heard himself begging from far away, desperate as Pundit in search of table scraps. “You have to, I swear to fucking god, you have to, just _fuck me_.”

Jon leaned down to kiss away the wetness he hadn’t realized gathered to pool on his cheeks. “Say it nicely, Lovett. Come on, baby, be sweet for me.”

“Please, you absolute motherfucker,” he begged, more frustrated tears spiking on his lashes. “Please, Jon, please fuck me, please—”

Jon sank in without warning, a steady slide inexorably down to the hilt. Lovett screwed his eyes shut and gasped, turning his head to the side and shuddering.

“Lovett,” Jon slurred out, “tell me you’re okay, I can’t…”

Lovett opened his eyes. The tendons in Jon’s arms stood out like steel wires, each muscle trembling finely. He stared down at Lovett like he was all that stood between him and drowning.

“Better than,” he finally managed to say, caught up in luxuriating in the feeling of Jon coring out his own space inside him. “Go for it, buddy.” He patted Jon’s trembling bicep with an uncoordinated arm, too punchdrunk to care that his fine motor control disappeared along with most of his words. “Full speed ahead, engage warp drive. Sink that homer, kick a three pointer, whatever works for you.”

“How is that hot,” Jon demanded, almost angrily. He collapsed down to his elbows and kissed Lovett, hips slamming forward in sharp, short thrusts. “That’s fucking ridiculous, you nerd,” he growled into his mouth, biting at his lower lip in retribution, “it shouldn’t be hot.”

‘ _I would never kinkshame you, Jon, we’re all free to be you and me_ ,’ Lovett wanted to say, but it got lost somewhere in the weeds between his brain and his mouth. What came out instead was a low moan. He clenched around Jon’s cock, sighing happily when Tommy grabbed his hair from behind them so he could tilt his chin up and kiss him.

Jon’s breath caught. “Mother _fuck_ ,” he swore, hips rabbiting forward in almost brutal thrusts. “Look at you, Lovett. Just… fucking look at you.” He wrestled Tommy out of the way and kissed him again, clumsy and off-center. “Taking it so good. Fucking made to take cock, weren’t you, fucking _perfect_ , so tight around me.”

A dim part of Lovett wanted to mock Jon for his straight from a bad porno dialogue, but the rest of him wanted to beg to hear it all again and convulsed like he’d been struck, more precum spilling out to smear across both their abdomens.

“Could keep you like this all the time, fuck you whenever you need it, ‘till you can’t fucking breathe without dick in this pretty little hole.” He stopped and fingered the skin stretched taut around his cock.

Lovett stiffened like a bowstring pulled taut, mouth open in a shocked cry.

“You gonna come, Lovett? Come on my cock, all over me, then I’m gonna fill you up.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Can’t…” Lovett panted, twisting restlessly. The path to orgasm shone like light from a crack under the door, bright and waiting for him if only he could only work the lock. “Not just from this, not right now.”

“What do you need?”

“Touch me, jerk me off, Jon…” his tongue felt thick and useless, brain emptied of all the eloquent pleas he might make and narrowed down to how good he feels and Jon looming like a fucking furnace over him and the piercing, inescapable sensation of being filled. “Gotta,” he sobbed, flailing out to grab Jon’s shoulders, his back, his hair, anything in reach to urge him on. “ _Jon_.”

“Yeah, ‘s all right, man, I got you.” Jon reached between them to wrap a possessive hand around his cock, not jerking him off, just holding him and letting the push and pull of their bodies do the rest. “We can work up to that. You got it now, Lovett? Think you can come for me, huh? Think you can let go so me and Tommy can give you what you want, what you fucking need. Come on, do it, give it up for us.”

Helpless to do anything else, Lovett wailed and came, into Jon’s hand and across their bellies, too sensitive dick dribbling out smaller pulses when Jon didn’t move his hand, just fucked him harder through the aftershocks and whispered how pretty he looked giving it up, how he was going to leave him so wet he’s drowning in it, how hard Tommy was going to fuck him after, how easily he’d slide in once Jon’s cum made him all sloppy.

He wrenched his hand from between their bodies and brought it to Lovett’s mouth. “Clean it,” he demanded, and Lovett licked the salt of his release from his palm, then each finger, Jon’s eyes burning down into his. “Fucking… so ridiculously fucking hot,” he grunted, forcing Lovett’s head to the side so he could bite his words into the pale skin. “How are you even— _Christ_ , baby, look at you. Eating your own cum out of my hand, fucking loving it, such a _slut_.”

He groaned, low and pained, and his hips stuttered to a halt as he came in a rush, fucking back into his own mess in slow, indolent pushes until his cock slipped free.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, nudging his nose affectionately against Lovett’s left eyebrow in a move better suited to Leo. “ _Fuck_.” With a reluctant grunt, he slowly levered himself up and rolled over onto his back in an ungraceful flop. “ _Fuck_ ,” he said again, with feeling.

“Succinct.” Lovett wrinkled his nose, feeling a wave of goosebumps rise on his arms. Without the shield of Jon’s freakishly warm body as insulation, the room’s temperature dropped like a stone. He stretched, feeling the ghostly precursor to tomorrow’s assorted and well-earned aches. “Not to mention repetitive but I’ll admit, also entirely accurate.”

“Lovett…” Tommy rasped out.

He looked up, brows pulling together. At some point Tommy had wedged himself up against the headboard, too far away to pull closer without making an actual effort at moving Lovett’s absolutely not going to be ready to tackle for another minute or two. “You rang?”

“Are you…” Tommy swallowed hard, lips pressed together in a hard line. He looked halfway to feral, cock red and weeping on one thigh, hands clenched down on nothing in white knuckled desperation. “I want… I don’t want to…” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he gritted his teeth. “Do you need to wait a sec? I can wait.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to move just yet, you don’t have to.” The hand Lovett stretched out only just brushed the top of Tommy’s foot. He prodded at the fine tracery of blue lines over delicate bones. “C’mere.”

“I can wait,” Tommy repeated stubbornly. “It’s fine.”

“That is some _peak_ Vietor shit,” Jon announced from his still-motionless sprawl. “Give the man what he wants, already. Jesus, Tommy, enthusiastic consent has been given, green light means go.”

“Didn’t ask for group input.” Tommy raised a hand and flipped him off. “It’s not your literal ass on the line, dickhead. Let Lovett answer for himself.”

“Poor self-sacrificing Tommy,” Lovett laughed, feeling loose and a little giddy. “Hang on, gimme a sec to remember how legs work and I’m gonna take care of this for you and your pathologically Teutonic sense of self-denial.”

“You don’t have to—”

Fumbling bonelessly up to his knees took some doing, but the distance from there to Tommy’s lap went faster. “Or, another suggestion: we bypass you being noble and get to the good part already.” He sank down in one quick drop, ass slapping into the solid cradle of Tommy’s hips with a loud, obscene smack. It ached despite Jon’s thorough job opening him up (because of it, for that matter) and he moaned, gnawing on Tommy’s shoulder in happy celebration.

“Fucking vampire,” Tommy said, hands so tight on Lovett’s hips he could practically feel the bruises rising already. “Jesus Christ, Lovett, I just wanted to give you a little recovery time. Stubborn little shit.”

“Didn’t need it,” Lovett rocked his hips experimentally, clenching around Tommy’s cock just to listen to the way his breath hitched. “Feels good.”

“Might not feel so good tomorrow,” Tommy countered, but he relaxed his hold on Lovett’s hips and stopped trying to impede his movement.

“Says you. Good’s a personal rubric, there are sliding scales to nail down.” It’ll hurt, sure, and he’ll whine to Ronan and demand post-birthday coddling, but there’s plenty to be said for the aftermath portion of events. And if it’s a competition, his knees are going to complain just as much as anything else. “And moving objects are particularly tricky to hit, just ask my hand-eye coordination. In fact—” Tommy chose that moment to join the party and tentatively thrust upward and Lovett lost the thread, coherent through flying out the same window as the last atrophied remnants of any shame he might have long-ago possessed. “Fuck, you’re big. _Not_ a complaint, do that again.”

“You mean like this?” Tommy readjusted his grip, wrapping an arm around his lower back and using the new leverage to help support his weight and control the way their bodies move with each other. “That feel good, too?”

Lovett nodded, feeling a drop of sweat wind its way down his spine. “Yeah,” he murmured, rolling his hips and enjoying the way Tommy’s fingertips bit in viciously in reflexive need. “Could take it harder.”

“I bet you could,” Jon said, taking advantage of his newfound second wind and rolling up to his knees beside them. “So why don’t you? Tommy’s not the one on top, here. Come on, Lovett, shake the lead out and just fuck him harder yourself.”

“ _Not_ what I meant.” Petulantly, Lovett glared at Jon, who only grinned back. “That’s work and it’s my _birthday_.”

“Jon,” Ronan said mildly. When Lovett craned his neck to look at him, the glassy sheen to his eyes and tense, attentive lines of his body gave lie to his tone. “Be good. Ride him, I want to see it.”

 _Well_ then.

“ _Working on my birthday_ ,” Lovett said, bracing his hands on Tommy’s shoulders for extra balance and finding a more punishing rhythm on his own. “So unfair.”

“Poor not-so self sacrificing Lovett,” Tommy teased. “You heard the man.” He pushed the sweaty hair clinging to Lovett’s temples back, a creeping sly confidence underlying his tender smile. “Put on a show for your boyfriend, sweetheart. Gonna take such good care of you after.”

“Fuck,” Lovett said, pulse thundering in his ears. Helpless to do anything else he leaned more heavily on Tommy and fucked himself as fast as gravity and skipping leg day when morning twitter hit peak idiocy allowed, feeling the burn in his thighs intensify. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Tommy muttered, reaching between them to feel where Lovett’s wet around his cock, one lip held between his teeth. “Jon worked you over real good, huh? You feel…” he shook his head, exhaling sharply.

“I feel?” Lovett prompted, feeling dizzy.

“ _Perfect_.” Tommy cupped his face in one hand, big palm covering his jaw from hinge to chin. “How about you? Does it feel good, this still okay?”

Lovett nodded breathlessly. The room felt very small at the same time the bed seemed to double in size, then triple, only to keep expanding into some infinite pocket universe populated only by beds able to break the laws of physics, a huge boat upon the smallest of oceans.

Tommy dug his nails into his lower back on the downthrust, little crescent moons of sharp pain. Not satisfied to sit back and watch, Jon alternated between sucking stinging kisses onto his neck and shoulders and whispering the kind of vaguely heteronormative porno bullshit Lovett could have _sworn_ would never be anything but ridiculous. Everything seem to vibrate and slowly spin in air turned summer on a campaign bus without AC in Georgia heavy. Each inhale took effort and when he looked to the side Ronan’s eyes burned a hole right down through skin and bone to watch excitement zing around his bloodstream.

Tommy followed his eyeline to Ronan. They held a silent conference, all eloquent eyebrows and minute, WASPian jaw twitches. Ronan nodded encouragingly, and Tommy cleared his throat, looking back at Lovett. “He told us what you like, you know.”

“Oh?” Lovett managed. It was only too easy to imagine: Ronan sitting them both down to calmly explain how best to take him apart, maybe with a powerpoint about the best ways to make him lose his mind. He swallowed hard and tacked on distractedly, still half in the mental reconstruction, “Did he?”

“Yeah.” Tommy paused. “He told us how bad you need to get fucked, said you were this needy, but I didn’t…” He paused, tongue darting out to wet dry lips. “Jon’s right, you’re a slut.” The last word tripped out unsteadily. Lovett choked out an agreement and his tone steadied. “When he said we should make sure to give you as much as you can take, I didn’t think it’d take so much.”

“ _Tommy_.” Embarrassment and arousal weld themselves together to set his brain on fire. Lovett knocked his forehead against Tommy’s collarbone, whining softly. “Please.”

“You need more already, don’t you? This is good, but it’s not enough, is it? Nah, not for you.” Tommy shook his head, eyes hawk-sharp on Lovett’s, ferreting out all of his responses and filing them away. “You want more. You’re so goddamn desperate for it, sweetheart, the way you’re trying to keep me inside…” He used his grip to stop Lovett on his next descent, leaving him nestled firmly in his lap. “Let’s see if we can do better than okay.”

“God _damnit_ , Tommy.” Lovett’s voice cracked halfway through the plea, ragged enough around the edges to cut them both.

“‘s all right, Lovett, shhh,” Tommy soothed him quietly, petting his side, “Gonna take care of you like I promised, just tell me you need me to fuck you harder. I wanna hear it.”

Lovett bobbed his head in a quick yes, dry throat clicking on a swallow. “Yeah,” he finally slurred, barely a distinguishable word at all.

“I said _tell_ me you need more, remember? Gotta say the words, Lovett.” Tommy grabbed his chin and tilted it up, stroking his thumb in comforting little circles. “Then I’m gonna give you it, Lovett, give it to you good. That what you want?”

“Yeah,” Lovett agreed weakly, struggling to draw in a deep breath as his heart threatened to slam its way out of his chest. “Need you to fuck me harder.”

Tommy backed into the headboard again and braced his feet as much as possible on the sheets. He fucked up in slow, deep pushes at first, testing his range of motion, then faster, hands moving to Lovett’s hips and taking charge of their rhythm himself. His feet slipped on the sheets every thirty seconds, and he grunted in frustration and adjusted his grip. “Hang on,” he gritted out, whole body tensing. Lovett felt the sheets on his back before he realized Tommy had tipped them backwards and resettled without pulling out or breaking anyone’s nose.

“Fuck,” Lovett said, blinking slowly up at the ceiling. Between Jon’s word for word recreation of _Bus Bangers VII_ and Tommy’s hidden moves, the odds he’d tripped and fallen into an alternate porn universe seemed much higher than normal. Tommy grinned with pride when he told him so, and Lovett shook his head. “ _Fuck_ ,” he repeated with extra emphasis, drawing it out into four entirely deserved syllables.

“That’s the plan.” He wiggled his eyebrows and ran a hand up Lovett’s thigh. A considering look crossed his face. “In fact…” he hitched Lovett’s leg up over one arm, cautiously pressing down until he was nearly bent double. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. It was probably for the best, because Lovett wasn’t entirely sure he could form one, not with Tommy doing his best to fuck him entirely stupid and murder their podcast empire in its cradle. “Worth it,” he muttered, and Tommy’s brow creased in confusion. “‘s n’thng.” Clumsily, he patted his bicep. “K'p goin’.”

The crack of their skin connecting echoed in Lovett’s ears, joining forces with Tommy’s harsh breathing and his own heartbeat to blot out the sun. Dimly, he registered Jon’s bursts of obscene commentary, but the words might as well have been uttered underwater for all the sense they made. Sweat gathered and pooled on every available inch of skin, dripped down Tommy’s nose and forehead onto his collarbone.

Dizziness threatened to flip the room sideways. Lovett’s lungs burned, struggling to suck in breaths that felt like they’d been taken through a straw.

He didn’t realize he was going to come until it happened, when he looked down between them and saw a splash of white cover Tommy’s abs. Seeing it toppled the barrier between sensation and thought. “Fuck, shit, shitshitshit, _fuck_ ,” he chanted, digging his nails into Tommy’s back. The too-good pins and needles flooded out in a wash of lethargy, dragging down each limb with lead weights. He went limp in Tommy’s grasp, gasping like a landed fish.

“ _Christ_.” Tommy’s thrusts felt even more ruthless now that he’d come. “I knew it, always knew it’d be this good, just look at you. Taking it so good for me, gonna look so fucking hot when you’re so fucking full of me you can taste it.” He buried his face in Lovett’s neck and a dull pain exploded as he latched on with single-minded ferocity, alternating between worrying at the skin with his teeth and licking away the hurt. He pushed his hips up in unsteady pulses, grinding into his lax body until he came, mixing with Jon inside him and leaking slowly down one thigh.

“I gotta agree with Jon.” He pulled out with a soft grunt and flopped down next to Lovett, breathing choppy. “Holy _fuck_ though.”

“I _told_ you,” Jon said smugly, reaching out to poke Tommy’s hip with one finger.

Satisfied to leave the bickering to somebody else for once, Lovett catalogued his various aches, stretching luxuriously just to feel the pull on each individual muscle. His neck twinged sharply when he rolled his head to the side to mouth ‘ _best present ever_ ’ at Ronan, and he lifted a hand to probe the tender, hot skin. “Who’s the vampire now, Tommy?”

“Sorry.” Tommy somehow managed to turn redder, ruddy splotches overlapping the lighter pink of exertion. “I should’ve asked how you feel about hickeys beforehand. Ronan didn’t mention them on the no-fly list.”

Lovett rolled his eyes and held up a finger in correction. “You’ll notice I didn’t say anything _negative_ about them. Don’t be sorry.”

“All right, I won’t.” A bashful smile played around his mouth. “If you quit trying to get every single last word you can.” He leaned in to kiss away any protest, lazy making out with no real purpose. Jon pushed him aside to take his place Tommy grumbled in protest but allowed it. “Did I muscle into your time, asshole?” He looked down at Lovett’s hole, red and tender and dripping with white, and his eyes widened. “Jon. _Jon_. C’mere, you gotta see this.”

“Do I get a vote in this?” Lovett sulked, kicking out at Tommy with a leg still mostly comprised of jelly. “Adherence to democratic norms is important in these unstable times.”

“Look at that, man,” Tommy said, ignoring him and tracing the path of slick down Lovett’s thigh lightly with one finger. “Holy shit, that’s gorgeous.”

Jon’s fingers joined Tommy’s. “He’d win the vote, Lovett, mother _fuck_. You should see yourself. Tommy,” he said with exaggerated courtesy, “do you mind if I cut in? I’d hate to be accused of any further muscling.”

“Shut up.” Tommy knocked their shoulders together. “Go for it, man, I’m gonna need a second to get back up to fighting weight anyway.”

“More for me.” Jon manhandled Lovett back onto his back and forced his shoulders up between his thighs, exposing his hole to them both in an obscene display. “Jesus fucking Christ, Lovett, we fucking wrecked you. You’ve got so much cum inside you it’s already leaking out, and we've only fucked you twice. You wanted it so bad and now you can’t even hold it all inside. What's it gonna look like later, you think?” He probed at the puffy rim with careful reverence. “ _Fuck_. Fuck, look what we did to that tight little hole of yours. Does it hurt, baby?”

He wasn’t looking for a no.

Lovett nodded, burning red spreading across his chest and face in blotchy patches. “Yeah, a little.” He coughed. “I like it,” he added unprompted, seeing the next question in Jon’s face before he asked it.

“We can tell,” Jon teased, massaging the ache with his fingertips. “Here, tell you what. Let me make it up to you. I can kiss it better.”

Lovett stifled a surprised shriek when he felt Jon’s tongue follow that trickle of white up between his thighs and lick a broad stripe over his hole, cleaning away everything he’s been leaking out—his cum, and Tommy’s cum and _how_ he was even semi-hard Lovett could not begin to guess but he _was_ , and it hurt. He whined and bucked upwards towards Jon’s mouth.

“Hey, easy.”

Tommy held his hips down and Lovett grasped at him with shaking hands, desperate for something steady to keep him from flying apart.

Jon made good on his promise. He palmed Lovett’s ass, opening him for better access, licking in hard, flat lines and sucking gently, laving the wrinkled skin of his hole until more cum spilled out then spearing his tongue to push it back in, over and over until Lovett’s inner thighs and ass dripped with sweat and spit and cum and somehow he was hard again, painfully so, cock an angry purple and leaking against his abdomen.

He writhed on the end of Jon’s tongue, sobbing out nonsensical pleas for an _end_ ; more, less, just something to make the world start spinning in its proper orbit again. Tommy kissed him, not caring Lovett could only gasp into his mouth in response. “How’s it feel, Lovett? Is he taking care of you, doing a good job eating you out?”

Lovett struggled to remember how to use his mouth to shape words. Below them, Jon moaned appreciatively and rubbed his thumb over his ankle bone, a featherlight touch that somehow set off fireworks in his brain. Lovett clutched Tommy’s forearm and sobbed as he came again, dick spitting a thin drizzle of cum onto his belly.

The room felt unnaturally still once Jon pulled away. Thoughts a complete jumble, Lovett dragged in long, fortifying breaths and craned his neck to look at Ronan.

He smiled reassuringly, but his hands held his phone with enough force his knuckles went white, and his erection warped the perfect lines of those gorgeous suit pants. He stared at Lovett with eyes that promised plenty of time on their own later, when Jon and Tommy said their goodbyes and Ronan could explore what they’d done to him with his hands.

Jon smiled back, the warmth in his chest nearly a physical presence.

“So.” Tommy cleared his throat, eyes darting back and forth between them. “You guys probably want…” He drummed his fingers on a naked thigh, staring with fixed determination at the duvet. “Are we… I mean, is it time for us to make our excuses?”

The only thing that kept Lovett’s instinctive panic response in check was how painfully obvious it was that Tommy didn’t want to hear a yes.

“If you think you’re going to get away with one time…” he clicked his tongue in disappointment. “It really should go without saying that one round is hardly all night, no matter how admittedly mind-blowing it was.” ‘ _Mind-blowing_ ’ Jon mouthed smugly, and Lovett paused to pinch his side. “I believe I was promised all night by one Jon Favreau. That’s a binding verbal threesome contract, you know.”

Jon turned to Tommy and nodded mock-solemnly. “I did promise him, Tommy.”

A smile backlit Tommy’s eyes, turning from from steel to slate. “Well, I’d hate to make you liable in threesome small claims court. I guess we better stay, then.”

Jon's smile echoed Tommy's, and Lovett felt a lingering tension he hadn’t known existed dissipate.

Jon stretched, scratching absently at his lower belly and wrinkling his nose at the matted hair. “It’s a good thing you’re up for it, Lovett, because if you weren’t I’d just have to downgrade my plans for the night to sleeping on your couch.”

“...uh, and why is that, exactly?” He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t remember tendering an invite in between you giving me crap in what was, in retrospect, an obvious enough setup I should have noticed it while it was happening.”

“You didn’t, and you really should have.” Jon grinned. “But if I came home early Emily would make fun of me for being a shitty lay during your birthday threesome until we die.”

Lovett snorted. “I _knew_ I loved her.” How not-weird this all is should be enough to make it weird, but for some reason he couldn't summon up the usual active stream of endless anxiety over interpersonal bullshit important life changes tend to require.

Very possibly, Jon and Tommy fucked it into submission. He snorted again, then nodded decisively. “So, definitely more sex, but is anybody else hungry? I’m fucking starving.”

“I could eat,” Tommy said.

Jon bobbed his head in agreement, then hesitated. “So, food definitely sounds good, but anybody mind if I shower first?”

Lovett considered showering. Cleaning up the slowly drying sweat and general tackiness appealed, more than a little, but when he thought about how wet he still was and how if he just threw on some gym shorts anybody could yank them down and just slide in, fucking up through their own cum—

“I’m good,” he said abruptly, breath coming a little faster. “Go, be fastidious. Extra toothbrushes are in the cabinet under the sink. Tommy, what about you?”

For a moment, he fingered the mess on his belly and looked torn. “What the hell.” He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go make some food.”

Ronan stood, smoothing down the front of his shirt in a way Lovett knew by now had nothing to do with caring about wrinkles and everything to do with rich-kid self-soothing. “I have to return an email from a source. Jon, you’ll be all right?”

“Of course.” He stood and stretched, groaning. “Oh yeah, gonna feel that tomorrow.” With one more emphatic groan, he snagged a pair of gym shorts from the hamper. “Come, Tommy, let us go boldly forward to forage for our sustenance as our ancestors did,” he announced grandly, and _very masterfully_  did not hop even the slightest when he pulled on the shorts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait on this! I picked up some extra work and as the good book says, it's all about the Benjamins. I'm between big projects now, so the rest will be up much faster.
> 
> Anyway, this is now forever indelibly marked out in my mind as The Week Tommy Called Lovett Daddy, but I'm fine with it. I'm F I N E. Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
> 
> Spoiler: I'm not actually fine. Tommy, why would you do this to me? Why are all these assholes the way they are, etc.
> 
> Also I realized while I was editing this was gonna end up like 15k+ of entirely plotless trash no matter what I did and I might as well lean into the wind and do the job right, so to speak; aka, it's going to be four chapters now so I can get in the morning after, and... it's maybe kind of the start of a verse. I _know_. 
> 
> I'm blaming Tommy, tbqh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the chapter will be up by the end of the night (...tomorrow at the latest, to give myself room for procrastination and dinner always taking longer than I think it will) but I figured, hey, I've got 4k done already and no real desire to delay my gratification on that sweet, sweet posting buzz. As such: an unplanned update!
> 
> (The next one is the for REAL last chapter I swear.)
> 
> And while I'm here, thanks to everybody who read/commented/left kudos, you guys are fucking great.

“You know, I’m not sure our ancestors had crisper drawers, Lovett.”

“Don’t be so literal. We’re also not foraging except by the _very_ loosest definition of the word, but I didn’t hear you nitpicking my wording there. You want water? I want water.”

“Water’d be good, thanks.” Tommy leaned back against the counter, hipbones exposed by the too-big borrowed shorts he must have stolen from the hamper. He hitched them up, fumbling for a non-existent drawstring. “Why do you have these things? They’ve gotta be too big for you.”

“I fucked up and got the wrong size on Amazon.” Lovett shrugged. “Then they were here, and I figured, what the hell? Returning them requires effort and they mostly stay up, so why not keep them?” Distractedly, he let himself stare at the man _in_ the shorts. Tommy had those little under hipbone divots. The iliac something or other, he recalled, eyes glued to the hollows of pale skin. He’d always known Tommy had them, but there was a fine line between noticing your gorgeous, heretofore assumed to be tragically straight male friends and _appreciating_ them. Now he was allowed to openly stare at those shadowed, vulnerable places, and that made a world of difference. “I’m certainly not going to complain, not when they’re currently giving me a free show. Do me a favor, maybe pretend you dropped something and bend to pick it up... but do it _slowly_?”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Tommy laughed, pink almost all the way down to his belly button, “better not try that at work or Ronan will get you.”

“Worth the price. On a related note: I’m going to lick you,” Lovett told those little dips earnestly. “You’re gorgeous.”

Tommy paused. “Uh… thanks?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to the skin under your hipbones.” Lovett took one last fortifying stare and turned stare into the fridge, enjoying the cold air and weighing their options. “I want something hot and I’m lazy, but I’m not quite at microwave quesadilla levels of lazy. Eggs? I could bear to turn on the stove for something simple.”

“Eggs sound amazing, actually.”

“Perfect.” He pulled out eggs and cheese, bypassing the vegetables entirely. “There, now we aren’t _using_ the crisper drawer, satisfying the original terms of engagement.” He set the eggs on the counter first, tensing instinctively for Pundit’s excited leap until he realized the usual scrabbling along the floor at the sound of the fridge never materialized. “Did you guys kidnap my dog, too?” He paused. “Wait, was _that_ what Jon was doing when he ducked out?”

Tommy nodded. “They’re with the girls for the night, at Jon’s place.”

“That’s…” Thoughtful. Overprepared, maybe? Somehow adorable? “This is the most exhaustively pre-planned threesome I’ve ever heard of,” was what he settled on.

“Yeah, Ronan made sure we had everything squared away beforehand.” Tommy drained half his water in one long swallow and wiped the spillage away with the back of his hand. “He’s a pretty chill guy, but he doesn’t fuck around.”

“Actual creepy old men of the world, beware.” He picked up his phone and scanned the front scroll while the pan heated up, butter a slowly melting spiral. “Speaking of not fucking around, I have a text from Emily.” He squinted at the screen, bringing the phone closer to his face when the text blurred without his glasses. “It says have fun, see you this weekend, then too many exclamation points, and then there’s…” He paused and shook his head, “about thirty eggplant emojis and a peach, a couple cocktails, then the red dancing lady too many times to even bother with trying to estimate.”

Tommy shook his head fondly. “Yeah, Emily was pretty into the idea. I got an earful.”

“...wait, really?” Lovett gawped at him. Jon’s version of events hadn’t quite conveyed _that_ level of enthusiasm. “I need to start the eggs, but don’t think you get to stop mysteriously at the best part and not explain that little bombshell further. This isn’t _Westworld_.”

“She just said a couple things to me about it,” Tommy hedged, itching his side. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yes, somehow I managed to suss out speech isn’t silence just fine on my own. What _kind_ of things?”

Tommy coughed. “Lovett…”

“ _Thomas_. Do not make me embarrass myself by trying to to physically force you to tell me.”

Tommy’s flush went positively incandescent. “She just… you know, told me to show you a good time. In... pretty strong terms.”

“Oh. Well.” It was startlingly easy to picture her purposeful enthusiasm turned to hassling Tommy and Jon over maximizing their threesome potential. “Then she’s the one I like best, obviously.”

“Anyway,” Tommy continued, studiedly casual, “it wasn’t like it was just us. She and Hanna talked it out, too, and I didn’t get all the details but I gather it was a pretty interesting lunch.”

“So, how’d Hanna feel about it?” Two can play the ‘this isn’t potentially fraught, we’re all just shooting the breeze here’ game. Lovett stared down at the eggs, giving them the panicked look he can’t give Tommy. They remained stubbornly faceless, offering _less than zero_ help or commiseration. “Absolutely useless,” he sighed, then bit the proverbial bullet and faced Tommy again. “‘How does your wife feel about you putting your dick in me’ is not a question I ever thought I’d have to ask in life, believe you fucking me. Jesus, asking is probably bad threesome etiquette, or something. I’m very much not versed in how that goes.”

“I hear communication is key,” Tommy said wryly, and before Lovett could even _begin_ to parse what the hell that meant, he continued, “She’s good. Less inclined to effusive emoji use, but she’s good with it.” He read the doubt on Lovett’s face and took a step closer. “I mean it, man, she’s really okay. You know Hanna. You think she’d pretend to be fine with something like this if she wasn’t?”

“...no.” Lovett exhaled loudly. “But you know _me_. Gotta do a thorough dental investigation on each and every horse I’m gifted.”

“I do know you, and quit it. We had a lot of long talks about what could happen in a million different scenarios, but they were probably good for us either way.” He shrugged. “It helps she wasn’t surprised I’d be interested in taking the opportunity.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s good, I’m glad you guys are vying to be every therapist on earth’s wet dream for couples therapy,” Lovett said slowly, through the blue screen of death overlaying his brain, mechanically turning back to stir the eggs without seeing the pan, “But getting back to me… look, the ‘not surprised’ part? You’re going to need to repeat it, because I think I’m having an out of body experience and possibly had an auditory hallucination.”

Tommy chuckled. “Your ears are fine. I said, she wasn’t surprised I would want to seriously consider it.”

“Okay, so _elaborate_ on that, please,” he said, utterly at sea. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t she be surprised?”

“Because she already knew I wanted to sleep with you,” Tommy said matter of factly, “I didn’t really talk about this part with him, but I’d bet it’s the same with Jon and Emily.”

“Sorry, I’m just… you did? _He_ did? And you knew he did?” There had to be a logical conclusion here. There _had_ to be. The only trouble was, all logical paths Lovett tried ended in some truly batshit conclusions. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“ _How_?” Lovett practically howled.

Tommy shrugged, and the tips of his ears went red again. “We talked about it back in the day, that’s all.”

“What? And again, _how_?”

“It came up.”

“That’s just…” Lovett opened the cabinet to grab a bowl with more force than necessary, sending the wood smacking into the wall. “You have to understand how insane that sounds. Was it like, ‘hey, Favs, pass me the mustard, Obama’s running extra behind today so the meeting’s been pushed back again and by the way, have you ever thought about nailing Lovett’s tight ass?’ I mean, how does it even organically come up that you both wouldn’t be opposed to screwing me?”

“Wanted to,” Tommy corrected.

“Wanted to, wouldn’t be opposed,” Lovett waved his free hand dismissively and served up the eggs. “It’s the same thing.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Pretty sure it’d make a difference in a speech.”

“What would make a difference in a speech?” Jon appeared around the corner, hair still spiked with water from the shower. He’d foregone a shirt, and Lovett put his existential crisis on hold to admire him like he had Tommy. “Oh hey, is this all for me?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the eggs and scooped out a heaping bite with two fingers. “‘s goo’,” he managed.

“Well, _now_ it’s yours. You know we have spoons, right?” Jon only shrugged and scooped out more. “No, no, don’t worry. I’ll make more, it’s only _my_ birthday. Why shouldn’t I make the eggs? That scans.” Lovett rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated show of moving back towards the stove. “‘Pretty sure it’d make a difference in a speech’,” he continued in an admittedly poor imitation of Tommy’s voice, “you know what, Tommy? You can stay in your chosen goddamned lane with foreign policy and leave the nitpicking of verbiage to me.”

“Whatever you say, Lovett.” He grinned slyly. “It just seems like one is pretty passive, and I know how you feel about the passive voice.”

“Shut up and watch Jon eat your eggs,” he peevishly commanded over Jon’s helpful contribution of ‘ _fuck the passive voice police_ ’. “I’ll just be over here, making more for everybody else and thoroughly reevaluating… everything about what I thought to be an accurate narrative of my life. _Everything_. Ever.”

“You do that.” Tommy stole the bowl from Jon and said through a mouthful, “‘sright, goo’ eggs.”

“Did _Dan_ want to fuck me, too?” Lovett demanded, not to be deterred. “Did Obama?”

Tommy chuckled and made quick work of the eggs, ignoring Jon’s outraged attempts to take them back. “I can’t say either one of them ever mentioned it to me, but anything’s possible.” He passed the half-empty bowl to Lovett. “Go, sit down, eat. I’ll make more for everybody.”

Ronan was still at the computer in his makeshift office when Lovett knocked on the open door. “Hey.” He was struck by how _right_ Ronan looked, how happy it made him to watch the slow encroachment of the various bits of permanent lowgrade clutter that meant two people lived in his house, regardless of schedules and busy lives. He set the eggs by his keyboard and Ronan muttered a distracted thank you, still clacking away. Lovett shifted uneasily, flexing his toes to work them down into the carpet. “So, any chance you got a minute to check in, or... you know, whatever?”

“Sure, just let me finish this thought.” Ronan typed a few more sentences. With a little sigh he pulled his hands from the keys, head tilted inquisitively. “What’s up? Everything all right?”

“Are you _kidding me_ , I’m… well.” He gestured down at himself. “I’m living the gay dream, but…” he took a deep breath to build up his courage and move past the panicked urge to run away and not ask the kind of question where one of Ronan’s answers might crush him, just the slightest bit. “What about you? Are you still good? I know you said you were, but you only do that ‘oh, look at my imaginary obvious wrinkles’ move with your clothes when you need to feel more in control, and that seems… concerning. Should I be concerned, because I could _easily_ be concerned.”

“Jon,” Ronan broke into his spiral, fond smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “If you’d seen yourself respond to them from my perspective, you’d understand. Look, you’re right about why I do that in general, but not the _why_ in this particular context.”

“But…”

Patiently, Ronan shook his head. “Jon, I’m fine. And if I change my mind, I’ll say something.”

“But I just want you to get something out of this, too.”

Ronan held up one finger. “Hang on, we need to have this as an actual conversation.” He shut his laptop, swiveling in his chair to look at Lovett head on. “First, you’re going to need to let go of the idea I’m not getting anything out of this.”

Lovett rolled his eyes. “I meant sexually, not your weird ‘to give is the greatest present of all’ selflessness.”

“So did I.”

“...but you’re not. You watched, but you didn’t even jerk off.” Lovett crossed his arms over his chest, jaw jutting out mulishly. “Sexual, that is not.”

“Well, now you’re just being stubborn for the sake of it.”

“I am _not_.” Lovett fidgeted under Ronan’s skeptical stare. “Fine, maybe I am, and it’s not like they have an entire genre of porn dedicated to exactly what we just did because it’s a niche kink. I _know_ that. I guess I’m just… suffering a little after-action anxiety that you’re going to end up with second thoughts about setting this up at all, especially if you’re not taking part.”

“I don’t know that I’m not,” Ronan pointed out. “There are other things involved in sexuality beyond direct physical contact, Jon. There’s a lot about this that suits my needs, too.”

“Like what?”

“Well.” His face creased in thought. “I enjoy that I can give you this. And I suppose the discipline of waiting does something for me. I like watching you no matter what, and they’re both very attractive men on their own.” He met his gaze directly, at ease with the darker corners of his psyche in a way Lovett can’t help but envy. “And I like watching them with you, particularly knowing they feel like they have to look to me for approval because I…” He paused, casting around for the right words. “That I have a greater claim on you than they do. Maybe it’s not very evolved…”

“But oh my _god_ is it hot,” Lovett finished for him, bands of anxiety around his chest loosening.

“Agreed.” He held out his hand and waited for Lovett to take it, reeling him in gently until their knees bumped against each other. “You looked amazing.” Lovett scoffed and Ronan added, “Gorgeous, in fact. I’m enjoying this too, but I’ll enjoy it more if I know you’re not preoccupied worrying about me. You will, too.”

“Gorgeous,” Lovett waved a hand at himself like a more over the top Vanna White. “I’m sweaty and my hair is more of a problem than usual and I’m literally covered in ejaculate.”

“You are,” he acknowledged, “but it’s all in the eye of the beholder.” He cut off any further protest with a soft kiss. “Look, I hate to do this on your birthday, but this is time sensitive and they’re already skittish about going on-record. I really do have to wait on a reply.”

“The perils of dating a Pulitzer winner and journalistic superhero.” Ronan made a face and Lovett laughed, pressing a loud, smacking kiss to the corner of his mouth. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“It shouldn’t be more than half an hour, but go ahead and start without me anyway. And Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t shower until tomorrow morning, after they leave.” Ronan pulled him in for a real kiss this time, one hand coming to rest posessively on the swell of his ass. “I want to take in the full effect, and _then_ I’ll ‘take part’. Deal?”

Lovett groaned, deep in his chest. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“I would never,” Ronan grinned. “After all, I’m a journalistic superhero.” Lovett squawked out a surprised laugh, and he gave him a little shove towards the door. “Go, have fun. I’m glad you like your present.”

He reached the bedroom in time to catch the end of a quiet conference between Tommy and Jon.

“—I mean, who would’ve fucking thought it’d happen now, right?”

“It really is the weirdest goddamned timeline.”

They both sprawled across the bed, Tommy on his side and Jon on his back. Tommy lost the shorts somewhere and Jon’s towel was in a ball near the bathroom door, leaving _acres_ of skin on display. Lovett paused to leer, taking his time to appreciate each and every inch with the proper degree of careful attention to detail they deserved.

Tommy went predictably red.

Jon only stretched out to show himself off to better effect, propping his head on his linked hands in a way Lovett knew he was aware made his arms look fantastic. “Like what you see, Lovett?”

“Ehh…” He rocked his hand back and forth slowly in midair. “Stop preening, you’re not _that_ pretty.” He left his shorts in a careless heap between the door and the bed, doing some preening of his own when Tommy and Jon both followed his progress with the kind of hungry, focused attention Lovett usually associated with Pundit and any kind of food she shouldn’t be eating. He stopped at the foot of the bed, thighs brushing the sheets. “My eyes are up here, you know.”

“We’re not looking at your eyes,” Jon said, utterly shameless. “We see your eyes all the time. Your everything else without clothes on, not so much.”

“Are you saying my eyes are boring, now? Is the romance gone so soon?”

“They’re very nice eyes,” Tommy reassured him. “Where’s Ronan?”

“Busy saving the world from creeps, he’ll be back later.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s face fell in a way that was _entirely_ gratifying. “So should we wait, or...”

Lovett shook his head. “He said have fun without him. ...and that you should do whatever I tell you to do, up to and including making several binding verbal agreements surrounding the snack and music choices at work and declaring Pundit the official best office dog.”

“Somehow I doubt that second part.”

Lovett bounced a little on his toes, unrepentant. “Worth the try, don’t you think?”

Jon and Tommy shared a look and yanked him down to the bed, kissing away his indignant protests at the rough handling. They made out like teenagers, slow and messy and purposeless. Time flattened out into nothing. It could have been hours or minutes or years, and if put under oath about the matter he’d be able to fairly argue he’d been non compos mentis. Lovett lost himself in the way Tommy took him at his word and latched onto his neck and shoulders, leaving a constellation of little purple bruises when Jon claimed his mouth, and how Jon kissed like it was all he could ever imagine wanting to do. They learned about the spot on his left side that made him swear and arch into any touch, he learned about the hungry sounds Tommy made when Lovett drew his tongue over a nipple and how much Jon liked it when someone pulled his hair.

He only realized he was hard when Tommy let his hand drift down to cup his dick gently. Gentle or not, it hurt, and he stared down at his dick with a hazy sense of illogical betrayal. “How is that even _happening_? Did one of you slip Viagra in my coffee? Because I’m not fifteen anymore. I came three times earlier. _Three times_.” He held up three fingers to emphasize the point. “This really should not be happening. I think you broke me. If you broke me, I get a raise. Those are the new rules I just made up and will be strictly enforcing.”

“You _did_ say we were your fantasy.” Jon slid down his body, rolling his face into the skin like a cat scent marking a shoe and licking at him between Tommy’s fingers. “Maybe there’s a special longheld fantasy exemption.”

“Shut up, I hate you. Don’t touch me, I’m in _pain_.”

Jon nuzzled his lower belly, sucking a loud kiss into the rounded curve. “So you _don’t_ want me to blow you?” He moved Tommy’s hand and kissed the base of Lovett’s cock, tracing the thick vein running the length with a thumb. “Please, Lovett, let me suck your cock? I wanna do it so bad, wanna get my mouth on your dick. I need it.” He looked up at Lovett, lips already bitten-red and wet, begging with enough sincerity in his eyes Lovett couldn’t bring himself to resent the blatant underhanded tactics on display. “Please.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” he said weakly, and grabbed at Jon’s hair. “Quit giving me sad puppy eyes and just get to it already.” He let his head thud back to the mattress. “I’m going to die,” he announced, “and once I’m dead I will send you so many pictures of the ice I’m going to need for my ghostly penis and then, said dick with the ice on it, but yeah. Do it.”

“Yeah?” Jon husked.

“Yeah. You want it that much, who am I to deny you?” he muttered, and braced himself for wet heat that never came. “...Jon?” Lovett opened his eyes to see him holding back a smile.

“Right here, just wanted to make sure you meant it. I mean, I don’t wanna kill you.”

“I swear to—” He yanked hard at Jon’s hair, growling in annoyance when he refused to budge. “I hate you so much, I cannot _begin_ to quantify it. Suck my dick, right now, or I will kill _you_.”

“I just wanted to make _sure_ , because you didn’t seem su—”

Tommy shoved him down and cut his last word in half, gagging him a little on Lovett’s cock. The convulsion of his throat around oversensitized flesh was too much, too fast, and Lovett whimpered, hips bowing back.

“Sorry, sorry.” Tommy let go of Jon’s neck and he pulled back, gentling his mouth and just holding Lovett’s cock gently, tongue rubbing against the underside of his cock in careful, soothing passes.

Lovett sighed in relief, sinking back into the mattress. “Tommy,” he said, very seriously, “it’s okay, I forgive you. You were on my side this whole time, and I understand that. That’s why when I die from wish fulfillment sex I’ll only haunt you in the most affectionate way. And probably watch you in the shower.”

“You don’t have to die to do that.” Tommy gave him an oddly tilted half smile and stroked a hand over his cheek. “So let’s just skip the dying for now, okay?”

“No promises,” Lovett said, hand drifting down to rest on Jon’s head. “Yeah, Jon, that’s good, just… take it easy down there. Slow is key. Think of it as a chance to expend minimum effort for maximum gain.”

Jon chuckled, the vibration almost too much to stand. He mercifully didn’t push him too hard, just alternated between sucking gently and testing the plush give of Lovett’s hole with a gentle finger, like he couldn’t bear not to be inside him, enough so that even just that little bit satisfied a bone-deep hunger.

Inch by inch, the room started to shrink down to the size of their bodies. Lovett tossed his head restlessly against the mattress, breathing choppy, and tried to remember why exactly he hadn’t gone with a ceiling fan in the bedroom, too. Sweat gathered at the backs of his knees again and beaded at his temples, coating them all in a vague sheen. Tommy rutted against his side in slow, unconscious rolls of his hips, leaving trails of precum like glistening faultlines on Lovett’s skin, a roadmap to where he’s ready to crack and fly apart at the seams.

Pressed this close it felt like—it felt like—

It felt like it would if they were both fucking him. At once, penning him in from both sides and stripping away everything but sensation.

The thought hit him like a thousand volts right to the brain, frying good sense circuits and lighting up the parts that came up with ideas like ‘ _hey, why not ask my boyfriend for a birthday threesome with my best friends_?’ until it probably looked like a map of worldwide electricity use.

High just on the idea, Lovett managed to choke out, “I think… I think you should both fuck me. At once.”

Jon moaned around him. The vibration was almost too much to keep coming, but he pulled off with a loud pop and forestalled the inevitable a little bit longer. “Oh my _god_ , Lovett, how the fuck are you even real?”

“Is that a yes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, burying his face in Lovett’s hip. “Holy shit, of course.”

Tommy frowned. “You’ve put yourself through a lot tonight already, are you sure you’re up to that?”

“It’s my ass. My body, my choice, Tommy.” He didn’t look convinced. Suppressing a sigh, Lovett rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me yell for Ronan so he can back me up.” Tommy still looked uncertain, but all the classic signs of wavering were there. Lovett moved in for the kill. “Look, go buy me one of those inflatable butt donuts at CVS tomorrow if you’re so worried about it.” He paused. “And get me a smoothie.”

“If you’re sure,” Tommy said slowly.

“Use lube,” Lovett commanded cheerfully, “and make the smoothie mango.”

“Mango it is.” Tommy leaned his forehead against Lovett’s, breath hot on his lips. “I’ll get you two.”

Jon grabbed the lube from the nightstand. “Come here, Lovett. I’ll get you a smoothie too.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Nah, probably not,” he agreed. “C’mere anyway.”


	5. Chapter 5

The sheets felt like they’d been stored in the fridge when they eased Lovett onto his back. He shivered, skin prickling, and Tommy kissed the inside of his knee. “Hang on, let me…” he shifted his leg higher, bending it at the knee and pulling him open to give them more room to work. Tommy gently tested his initial response to a fingertip. Lovett jumped, hissing out a pained breath and nodded a quick go-ahead when Tommy froze mid-motion, too impatient to wait for the ache to fade. “Lovett… are you _sure_ about this?”

This time, Lovett didn’t bother to suppress his sigh. “ _Tommy_. Have you ever known me to skimp on complaining when I feel in any way at all, even just the _slightest bit_ , put-upon?”

“No,” he admitted, eyeing him with frustrated amusement. “I’m just trying to… you’re going to laugh at me if I say I’m trying to be conscientious, aren’t you?”

“I will mock you richly as you deserve,” he agreed. “Look, I’ll tap out if I need to, I swear to god. And I appreciate the spirit of the thing, I really do, but I’m a big boy. I mean, doing what Jon did and torturing me by drawing things out is one thing, but less ‘are you sure’s would be one hundred percent acceptable.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do that.” Tommy paused. “But what if I wanted to, you know, torture you a little?”

“One, don’t do that. That’s mean. But two, if you _do_ : that’s different, and _fine_ , I’ll allow it.”

“Got it.” Tommy pressed his finger inwards, not as fast as Lovett might have liked but a marked improvement from his previously glacial pace. He cursed under his breath. “So fucking hot.”

His body made soft, wet sounds as Tommy slowly began to stretch him. Jon hissed. “Fucking look at him, Tommy.” One of his fingers joined Tommy’s, sinking in with measured ease. “Taking it so well. Look at you, _fuck_ , look at how open you already are. We’re both gonna slide in here, Lovett,” he rotated his wrist, pushing deeper for emphasis. “Gonna fill you to fucking bursting.”

Tommy added more lube, frowning in concentration, and finally another finger. Lovett held his breath, but Tommy only shook his head and added another large dollop after he stretched out his fingers experimentally.

Lovett shifted impatiently. “I don’t need _that_ much lube, you know. In case you missed it, I have been fucked _several_ times tonight,” he informed them, mouth pursed with frustration.

“Yeah, we were there. Still need the lube.”

“ _Tommy_ ,” he complained, drawing his name out in a petulant whine. “I thought we talked about this.”

“Lovett,” he responded evenly, “I’m not asking if you’re sure, I’m saying it’s not going to work out like you want yet. Have you ever done this before?”

“...no,” he admitted. “Have you?”

“Yes.”

Smug certainty fled, replaced by unadulterated shock. “With a _man_?”

Tommy paused, losing a little of his surety. “One of them was.”

Lovett’s eyes narrowed. “And was _he_ the one getting fucked?”

“No,” Tommy admitted, and held up a hand to stave off Lovett’s indignant protest. “And before you say anything about that being different, the woman involved needed lube to help things along.”

“...oh.” _Thwarted_. From this angle crossing his arms over his chest to really convey the depth of his pique was impossible, but Lovett liked to think he expressed the sentiment just fine regardless. “Then that doesn’t help my argument I’m good to go right now very much, does it?”

“Nah.” Tommy spread his fingers and let him feel the burn of their width to drive the point home. “Listen, if we’re going to do this, as far as I’m concerned you’re not going to be ready until you’re wet enough to soak the fucking sheets.”

Lovett choked on his inhale, shuddering a little. “Okay,” he agreed weakly, trying and failing to pretend giving Tommy the unquestioned lead on timing didn’t appeal a whole lot more when he put it _that_ way. Jon’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Lovett scrambled to cover his newly found weak spot with bluster. “Fine, have it your way. Lord your threesome knowledge over those of us yet uninitiated into your special ‘oh, I’m so experienced and worldly, heed my master of sex wisdom’ club. Do your thing, go lube crazy. It’s not like what _I_ want should enter into this at all.”

“You sure about that?” Jon hadn’t fallen for it, the bastard. “Because I think you _want_ let us get you wetter, Lovett. I think you really, really want that.” He nipped the top of his ear playfully. “Huh, baby? You want to be our good slut, let us to get you sloppy, work you open enough to take me and Tommy at once, let us fuck that pretty hole again so we can get you even wetter?”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Lovett whimpered, and gave up the fight.

His eyelashes spiked with tears by the time Tommy deemed him wet enough to take it. Breathing meant pulling in little broken gulps of air that only served to remind him how impossible it was to draw in a deep breath. Filthy squelching sounds he’d cringe over if he had the mental bandwidth left for shame took over the room, rattling around his utterly blank mind like marbles in a tin. That was _him_ , he sounded like that, Tommy and Jon _made_ him sound like that—

Lovett _sobbed_ , an ugly sound ripped from low in his gut.

“Good fucking _god_ ,” someone muttered, quiet and vicious.

Lovett blinked slowly, trying to assemble images into information. Ronan was back, watching him like only sheer force of will kept him seated. He was closer this time, almost close enough to touch. God only knew how Lovett missed him dragging the chair towards the bed. He nodded when they locked eyes and mouthed something that made Lovett’s heart contract like a fist in his chest.

 _Gorgeous_.

“So… how do we want do this?” Unaware of their byplay, Jon coughed hesitantly. “I’m not entirely sure how to make this easiest on you, Lovett.”

The edge of concern in his voice did funny, probably insidious things to Lovett’s blood pressure, and he choked on air trying to work up a reply.

“ _Now_ , you want my input,” he finally managed to get out between choppy inhales. “To which, I say: fuck you. Figure it out on your own.”

Ronan coughed politely, covering a laugh. “It would probably work best if one of you laid on your back, and work from there.”

Tommy moved without being asked. Lovett half-crawled to him with unsteady legs, tottering until Jon pressed tight against his side and helped guide him into place, knees snug up again Tommy’s hips. He meant to ramp up slowly, he really _did_ , but once Jon grabbed Tommy’s cock and held it in place to make Lovett’s part easier it felt natural to just _take it_. His thighs slapped against Tommy’s pelvis, grinding him down harder with the bounce-back from the bed.

“Fuck!” He collapsed against Tommy’s chest. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groaned, eyes falling shut.

“Too much?” Tommy’s whole frame trembled like a racehorse held back at the gate, Lovett noticed from a great distance. “Hey, Lovett, look at me. Too much?”

He shook his head, trying to remember the arcane arts of how using words worked now that they’d finally broken him for good. “A lot,” he bit out. “Good, though.” All three things were probably equally true, but Lovett had the presence of mind left to recognize it had all been whittled down to endorphins a few bends in the road ago.

Tommy let them both settle, stroking his sides and back in firm, centering sweeps. When his own quivering subsided, he rocked his hips experimentally, keeping it up when Lovett only moaned encouragement.

“Look at that,” Jon marvelled, slipping a finger in next to Tommy’s cock. “You take it like it’s what you were fucking made for, Lovett.” A second finger joined the first, then a third, rubbing against them _both_ , making Tommy’s hips buck.

“ _Jon_ ,” Lovett wailed, knocking his forehead against Tommy’s shoulder.

“Just had to feel, Lovett, ‘s okay. I’m gonna give you what you want now,” he hushed him, taking hold of his cock to wedge it up against Tommy’s, the head just barely dipping inside. “Here we go. Just breathe and bear down, okay? You got this, Lovett, gonna take it so goddamn well.”

The pain was immediate and sharp, stealing all the air from his lungs. He stared sightlessly at the little collection of freckles just below Tommy’s left collarbone, unable to do a single thing but breathe and _be_. Sensation came and left in snatches and waves: the clench and release of Tommy’s thighs under his own. The thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. The way Jon’s breathing increased in volume until he was so loud Lovett was sure it had to be echoing off the walls of the all the homes within a half mile radius.

The weight of both of them on top of him hindered Tommy’s movement. He let Jon thrust, rubbing their cocks together inside Lovett, and concentrated on muttering quiet praise and covering Lovett’s mouth and chin in graceless kisses.

Responding to them took too much coordination to even think about an attempt. He felt raw and open, each nerve exposed to direct contact. Jon’s weight held him down, pinned to Tommy and caged even more purposefully by Tommy’s arms around them both. The force of Ronan’s eyes on him a physical weight all their own, and Lovett wondered half-hysterically if he’d managed to evolve to his final form and developed the ability to see inside the skin and down to the souls of people around them.

Jon took his hand and guided it down to feel where he’s wet and stretched wide around them both. “Feel that, Lovett? How fucking tight you are, squeezing me and Tommy so good, so fucking _hungry_ for it.” He kissed the back of Lovett’s neck, tongue darting out to taste salt. “Is it good, sweetheart? Is this what you wanted.”

Lovett sobbed a wordless agreement into Tommy’s chest, beyond the effort it would take to translate exactly _what_ it felt like to be a firework in the breath before a struck match turns to live flame next to a fuse.

Everything was too much. Jon was too heavy, Tommy was too hot, his skin too small to contain it all. He was too full, it was too good. Too everything at once. If they didn’t stop—or if they _did_ , he’d explode, he just knew it. He ached and twisted and burned, insensible and pinioned between here and gone.

Tommy came with a sub-vocal curse, spilling over and trickling out as Jon continued to thrust, losing any sense of rhythm and shoving himself forward like he wanted to carve out a permanent space for himself somewhere behind Lovett’s ribcage.

More by luck than anything else, he glanced a few times off Lovett’s prostate. Little black spots crackled at the edges of his vision when he squeezed his eyes shut, every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation. He had a split-second to muzzily remember Jon promising to work up to coming without needing a hand on his dick and that was _it_ , that was the last fucking straw. He came with a pained yelp, cock jerking weakly between them.

Tommy’s eyes widened. He forced a hand between their bodies, careful not to touch Lovett’s cock. It came away clean, and he inhaled sharply. “We made you come fucking _dry_ , Lovett, holy shit.”

“ _Fuck_.” Jon made a choked sound. “Lovett, I can’t… _Tommy_.” His body jerked forward and back before he came in a wet rush, joining the mess dripping down Lovett’s thighs. He collapsed with a heartfelt groan, pushing all the air out of Lovett’s lungs in a whoosh.

“Off,” Tommy wheezed, slapping ineffectually at Jon’s back. “ _Off_.”

“Yeah, I’m just… a minute, gonna do it,” he insisted muzzily, then jumped when Tommy’s fingers found purchase and twisted the skin below his armpit, _hard_. “Okay, okay! I’m going.”

Jon rolled away, leaving him empty and clenching around nothing. The still air in the room hit Lovett’s back like a slap, what had been sweltering now impossibly cold. He shivered, rolling his neck to look up at Tommy. “I get a minute though, right?”

“Yeah, Lovett.” Tommy’s eyes seemed lit from behind. “Yeah, you can get all the minutes you need.”

“Good, because I’m going to need them.” The clock on the wall ticked slowly, counting out the seconds with precise little clicks Lovett started to count as his brain reassembled itself into something resembling higher cognitive function again. Five hundred and seventy two counted clicks in, he sighed. “Okay. Okay, I’m moving now.” He didn’t roll gracefully away so much as vaguely heave all his assembled limbs to the side and hope for the best, but at this point more than basic coordination was asking a little much. “I’m up. Ish.”

This time, Jon ended up with the too-big shorts when they each cast around for clothes. When Tommy stole the pair he’d been using, Lovett shrugged and wrapped the discarded sheet around his waist like a toga, not caring that it trailed behind him and made him look like the world’s least put-together Liz Taylor impersonator or Louis on a bender. They found themselves in the kitchen by unspoken agreement, Jon and Lovett eating lunch meat out of the fridge with their bare hands like animals while Tommy made vague ‘ _guys, maybe we should…_ ’ noises until Ronan came back from a detour in the living room and shooed them all to the kitchen island.

“Here, use this.” He gave Lovett a throw pillow with a soft smile. “I’ll make dinner. Until then...”

He tossed them all apples, fresh from the fridge. Lovett bit into the sweet, crisp flesh with relish and brought one foot up to rest on the edge of the barstool so he could put his chin on his knee, kicking his other foot idly as he savored the delicate snap of fruit under his teeth.

Ronan turned back to the fridge. “Pancakes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Lovett said through a mouthful of apple. “I feel like I need to make it clear I’m not making the batter, though. I already made eggs.”

“That’s what’s in the bowl.” Ronan pulled a mixing bowl from the fridge. He uncovered it with a soft sucking sound and tossed the lid in the sink, then tilted it to let him see. “I made it earlier, I thought you’d like some.”

“I told you, Tommy. Most pre-planned threesome ever.” Lovett took a particularly loud bite of apple to cover for the disgustingly Hallmark brand of sentimental way that made him feel, but judging by Ronan’s smile he missed the mark.

The soft hiss of hot butter in the pan was soothing, joining the hum of the fridge to form the kind of home-specific white noise he always missed on the road. Once he finished with it, Ronan set the first finished pancake in front of Lovett with a flourish. “Here you go. ‘Sex and pancakes’ was your original demand for this morning, if I recall correctly. Let’s hope having them now is an acceptable replacement for missing breakfast.”

“Gross,” Lovett accused, heart nakedly in his eyes now. “You’re gross.”

“Thank you,” he said placidly, turning back to the stove. “Now be quiet and eat your pancake.”

Miming zipping his lips, Lovett tore into the pancake.

“ _Oof_.” Five additional pancakes later, flopping back into bed felt almost as good as anything Jon and Tommy had done before he’d gotten out of it in the first place. “I refuse to feel bad about that. Fuck the health community, six fucking pancakes whenever I feel like it seems like a perfectly sound diet plan to me.”

“No complaints here.” Jon leaned in for a kiss, cupping the curve of his belly with a palm. “At _all_.”

Laying back and letting Jon kiss him felt _nice_. Getting hard again was apparently out of the question—for Lovett, at least. Jon apparently didn’t share the same affliction. His cock filled out between them and started to leak onto Lovett’s belly and his own thighs until each roll of his hips made soft wet sounds. Bit by bit, the lazy thrusts started to gain purpose.

Lovett groaned regretfully. “I hate to hit pause, but if you plan on doing something with that that involves any active participation you’re going to need to wait. I’m on empty right now.”

“Too much sex?” Jon stilled, his mouth twisted in a mix of macho bullshit and disappointment. “We wore you out, huh.”

“Pfft,” Lovett waved a dismissive hand. “Too much sex, too many pancakes. Who can tell, really?”

“We wore you out,” he repeated, pride beating out petulance. “Totally understandable, fulfilling a long-held fantasy is a lot to take.” Lovett rolled his eyes and Jon cracked up, smiling his ‘I know a secret, but fuck if I’m going to do anything but make it obvious you don’t’ smile. “It’s all good, man. Waiting it is.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna make out with Tommy?” He looked over at Tommy and included him in the secret smile just as easily as he’d looped Lovett out. “We’re both pretty good at that.”

Tommy smiled back and Lovett’s annoyance at being left out of the joke took a sudden turn in the direction of something that should have already been obvious hitting him like a hammer to the head.

“...well.” He coughed, clearing a throat gone suddenly dry.

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Well what?”

“It’s… it occurs to me I’m not the only moveable piece in this little tableau. _You guys_ could always make out,” he said diffidently, feeling anything but. “You and Tommy, I mean.”

“Sure. Just make out?” Jon asked easily.

Lovett’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought much beyond the barest shadows of this, the fantasy he _knew_ he had and turned careful attention to not filling out. Imagining Jon and Tommy together had felt somehow even more taboo than inserting himself in the mental picture, but given how far behind they left that particular boundary the possibilities are _staggering_.

“Hey, Lovett.” Jon poked his side. “You in there?”

“Yeah,” he managed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Great, even. _Superlative_. Trans-fucking-cendent. Is more than making out on the menu?”

“Tommy?” Jon turned to him, brows lifted in invitation. He cocked a brow and tilted his head, Tommy’s cheek twitched, and Lovett watched with fascination as they held another conversation in a language of minute facial contortions he couldn’t hope to translate without more time to study it in-depth.

Finally, Tommy nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, more works for me.” He ran a hand over the tanned curve of Jon’s shoulder, hauling him closer. “‘Wanna make out with Tommy’,” he laughed. “Dick.”

“You’re _welcome_.” Jon looped an arm around Tommy’s shoulder, draping himself comfortably over him like one of those gigantic hunting dogs born without any concept of their own size. “Come on, Tommy,” he breathed, and something in the air around them electrified. “Let’s make out.”

They kissed like they’d been doing it for years, apparently too comfortable being around each other to be anything else, even outside their usual context. Jon made a needy sound and fisted a hand in Tommy’s hair, wriggling closer. He nearly kneed him in the balls in the process and Tommy bit out a low curse before latching onto the skin just below the hinge of his jaw, sucking with loud, obvious glee until Jon shuddered and used his grip on Tommy’s hair to yank him back up for another kiss.

Still in the chair, Ronan held out his arms in invitation. Lovett went to him, sprawling across his lap with his knees hooked over the arm of the chair. Contorting until he could face Jon and Tommy while staying _off_ the floor was a battle nearly lost until Ronan noticed and obligingly wrapped an arm around his waist to help.

“I got you,” he murmured, arm tightening in a half-hug. “Pretty, huh?”

“ _Oh_ yeah,” Lovett agreed with quiet vehemence. “Beyond pretty.”

“See? Not so bad from this side, is it?”

Lovett rolled his eyes, unaccountably reassured considering he hadn’t thought he was concerned in the first place. Of course Ronan would try and emotionally reassure him mid-threesome. Of _course_. “Shut up, you already won that argument.”

“I know.” Ronan kissed his cheek, smile hidden somewhere in the earnest tilt of his eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you knew I won, too.”

Lovett turned his head to catch his mouth, laughing quietly into the kiss. He lost track of the bed until Jon groaned, long and pornographic, and wrenched his attention back along with his neck.

“ _Fuck_ , Tommy. Come on, man, let’s get to the main event.”

Tommy pulled away from him, breathing heavily. “You or me?”

Jon hummed softly in consideration. “Tell you what, I’ll take one for the team. It’ll be less work, anyway.” He arranged himself on the bed, leg hiked up to display the heavy swing of his balls and the soft, pink crinkle of skin just below.

Tommy rolled away to grab the lube with a quiet grunt of effort. “Is that supposed to be a tightass joke, or something?” He slicked up his fingers, let out a surprised sound when Jon’s body yielded to pressure without much effort.

Jon huffed out a quiet laugh. “Always, but Emily’s got a whole rig. This is just more practical, it’s not gonna take as much time to get me ready.”

“I was gonna say.” He rotated his wrist cautiously, adding another finger when Jon only arched into the pressure. “Yeah, there you go. You weren’t kidding, this isn’t gonna take long at all.”

Now that Lovett was off to the side instead of in the middle and not lost in a haze of arousal, he could appreciate the picture they made _thoroughly_. Tommy levered himself over Jon, the muscles in his arm bunching and flexing as he fingerfucked him into a sweating, yowling mess, and Jon… Jon fucking _loved_ it, that much was obvious.

“Come the fuck _on_ , man,” he growled, voice shaking with strain. “I’m fucking ready enough and you know it.”

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered. “Okay, yeah. I got you.” He slowly pulled his fingers free and lined the head of his cock up against the deepened pink of Jon’s hole, lower lip held between his teeth in concentration. In one slow, careful push he slid home, not stopping until his hips met Jon’s with a soft whisper of skin on skin. “Hey,” he paused, breathing shaky, and leaned down his forehead to press his forehead against Jon’s.

“Hey.” Jon’s voice was thready.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” he had to clear his throat before he continued, “just a lot, that’s all.”

“Thought you said Emily had—“

“It’s just different, man.” Jon shook his head. “Plastic’s got a whole other feel.”

“Oh, is that all it is?”

“Might be another reason or two.”

“Maybe, huh?”

The skin around Tommy’s eyes creased in amusement, and they shared a smile loaded down with the weight of something Lovett was too tired to parse out.

“Okay, now you can go ahead and fuck me.” Jon broke the moment himself, rolling his hips under Tommy and nodding decisively. “Come on, Tommy, let’s see what you got these days.”

Jon looked good taking it, all loose limbs and the kind of unfocused smile that Lovett just knew was going to make drinking with him awkward in the foreseeable future. His drunk goofy grin came out too often to not end up hard in public at _least_ once per beer consumed, given its incredible similarities to what he looked like when he was getting fucked.

When _Tommy_ was fucking him, more specifically, which only made it worse.

They looked like porn—the artsy stuff, or at least the really expensive kind. Now that the only real source of light was what little filtered in through the windows, Tommy was all extremes. The the near absence of color that was his hair, the starkly shadowed angles of his shoulder blades and the thorough, relentless drive of his cock into Jon all had edges sharp enough to cut. Jon, mostly blocked from view, became the sounds he made: the panting and begging, demanding more and harder and god _damnit_ , Tommy, fucking just give it to him.

“He likes it almost as much as you do,” Ronan murmured in Lovett’s ear, quiet enough it wouldn’t reach the bed. “Watch him take it, Jon. That’s what you’re going to look like, later, when it’s just us.”

He had to kiss Ronan after that. _Had_ to, like he had to breathe or keep one eye on the show.

“Tommy,” Jon choked out a warning and wormed an arm between their bodies to take himself in hand. “Almost there.”

Tommy forced out choppy encouragements in between taking pained breaths, sounding like he’d been socked in the chest. “Yeah, that’s it. Come on, Jon. Jerk yourself off, make yourself come for me.”

He whispered something else, too low to hear, and Jon jerked like a landed fish. “Tommy, _you_ —” he managed, before speech left him entirely. Tommy’s thrusts went erratic then slowed entirely, and he ground himself into Jon’s body before collapsing on top of him.

“ _Christ_ ,” he groaned, slowly pulling free of Jon’s body. “Okay, now I’m tapped out too.”

Jon stretched, clearly cataloguing his various aches and twinges. “Yeah, I think I’m in the same spot. Lovett?”

With a small sigh of regret, he nodded. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but despite all the naked men in this room right now all I want to do is sleep.”

“Bed then,” Ronan said, and paused in thought. “I could always take the couch…”

“Under no fucking circumstances,” Lovett said immediately, shaking his head so hard his curls flopped down over his forehead and he had to impatiently shove them back. “We can all fit.”

Ronan squinted skeptically at the bed, then back at Lovett. “It’s big, but I’m not sure it’s _that_ big.”

“We’ll make do,” Tommy said, firmly. “And if anybody’s ending up on the couch, it’s one of us.”

“Nobody’s taking the goddamned couch, oh my _god_ ,” Lovett insisted, clambering out of Ronan’s lap. “This is my birthday threesome, and I say we squeeze.” One of them probably _should_ take the couch. Ronan was right. The bed was going to be cramped, and Lovett’s never exactly been one to ask for _less_ room to use for sleeping sprawled out.

The awareness of morning looming like one of CNN’s stupid fucking countdown clocks made all that seem insignificant. He had the rest of his life to sleep without someone’s elbow in his gut, and this one chance to see what it felt like to sleep with Jon and Tommy when they weren’t in a hotel on the road and he didn’t have to pretend to be indifferent to the result of a booking fuckup.

“If it sucks too much, you guys can rock paper scissors for the martyr spot,” he offered finally, doing his best to replicate Jon’s best too-charming for his own good wheedling smile. “Come on, indulge me.”

“Why not,” Tommy agreed, a little too readily to be anything but eager.

“I’m in, too.” Jon rolled to the edge of the bed. “Quick question, though: the sheets…”

“Strip them,” Ronan said firmly. “I grabbed one of the winter blankets, we can just lay that down and sleep on it instead of bothering with making it up again.”

Jon and Tommy joined Lovett when he said, “Most pre-planned threesome ever.”

“You laugh, but you’ll thank me when no one ends up in a wet spot.”

They made quick work of the bed together. Ronan slid to one side, nodding silent permission for Lovett to force Tommy in next and sleep between him and Jon. It felt strange, somehow stranger than fucking either of them had; not _wrong_ , just strange, but Lovett was asleep too fast to explore the feeling further.

He woke up before dawn with a low voice in his ear, hushed and broken sounding. “Lovett please, can I? One more time.” Tommy was hot enough to scald, an iron bevel against Lovett’s back. His cockhead nudged between his thighs, brushing his balls, a gentle but insistent pressure. “Won’t hurt you. Not gonna fuck you, not inside, I promise.”

Sleepily, Lovett nods. “Yeah, ‘sokay, buddy.” It felt to let his thighs part and give Tommy space to thrust into, letting his cockhead brush where he’s swollen and tender, over and over.

He came in a wet rush, dotting Lovett’s half-hard cock and upper thighs with cum. “ _Lovett_.” Tommy’s kiss was a clumsy, affectionate brush of lips, but something about it felt raw. Lovett’s own cock slowly took an interest, filling with blood and making him inhale sharply.

Jon made a harsh, lustful noise, and it felt only natural to turn to him. He slotted a thigh between Lovett’s, giving him something to rub off against while Jon did the same against his hip. Everything felt slow and dreamy, like he was on opioids or underwater. Or, he thought with a far away sense amusement, on opioids _while_ underwater.

Ronan blinked with sleepy interest across Tommy’s body, lids still at half mast. “There you go,” he murmured. “Make yourself feel good.”

Jon came first, spilling hot over both their bellies. Lovett hiccupped out a weak curse and followed him, asleep again before he realized it was nipping at his heels.

Jon’s nose was still buried in his neck when he woke up, arms clamped around him like the world’s most Disney prince-looking limpet. A quick examination showed they were alone, and Lovett kicked out his legs, sighing in satisfaction at the new room to move. Jon made a disgruntled noise and pulled him closer, lips brushing his hairline. It felt like being slowly smothered by a particularly handsome blanket, and Lovett took his time appreciating the sensation as he moved incrementally from sleep to consciousness. He was working on memorizing the stubbled line of Jon’s jaw from up close when he shifted, arm pressing more heavily on Lovett’s lower belly.

“Shit.” His bladder made its urgency known, and Lovett sighed deeply. These were the last moments, and despite the thin veil of uncertainty over the enjoyment, he wanted to prolong them all. He tried to stay still, to think about nothing and fall back asleep, but the cramping in his belly was too strong. “ _Shit_.” His good faith attempts to slide away without waking Jon only lasted so far, and when he refused to let go Lovett flicked his ear with a finger until he jerked awake.

“Fuck’sat?” He cracked an eye open, then raised a closed fist to rub away the bleariness in a uncoordinated, almost childlike gesture. “‘s morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, too early,” he countered, arms tightening. “More sleep.”

“You’re heavy, and I have to hit the bathroom,” Lovett complained without any anger. “Get off me.”

“Noooo.” Jon burrowed closer, nosing at his neck. “You’re warm, don’t wanna.”

“I _said_ , get off me. I have to piss, Jon.”

“Mmph.” Jon ignored him and closed his eyes again. “Nuh-uh.”

Lovett elbowed him in the side. “Get the fuck off, my bladder calls.” He leaned on the elbow until Jon yelped and let him go. “Thank you.”

The two barely wet towels hanging off hooks on the back of the door meant Tommy and Ronan had come and gone long enough ago they’ve probably already spent the morning being ruthlessly, masochistically efficient without any buffers in place to save them from their eerily similar work ethics.

Once his most pressing need was taken care of, Lovett grabbed his toothbrush and started in on his truly foul morning breath, staring longingly at the shower behind him in the mirror.

“Later,” he told the tile, “I promised Ronan. Then it’s just you and me, baby.”

Jon appeared in the doorway, hair a sleep-wrecked mess. “Are you talking to the shower?”

“...yeah.” Jon raised a brow in question and Lovett sighed. Not admitting _why_ felt ridiculous, given Jon’s co-starring role in why the shower remained forbidden territory. “Ronan’s gonna fuck me once you guys leave, he said no showers before then.”

“Nice.” He raised his hand for a high five, waiting until Lovett rolled his eyes and gave him one to drop the arm. “Emily said the same thing, just without the showering clause. Bet she’s gonna be pissed she didn’t think of it when I tell her.” They shared lovesick grins in the mirror. “Want me to tell her you said hi? She’s going to ask if you did, anyway.”

“Sure. And tell her I said you were at _least_ three steps above so-so in bed.”

Jon shoved him in mock outrage. “Fuck you, Lovett, I was four steps above so-so and you know it.”

“You were okay, I guess.” He looked down, pretending to search for the toothpaste. “So… not to belabor the point, but… we’re good, right? We’re still us, just with one very different experience under our belts now, so I really don’t see why we _wouldn’t_ just proceed on, same as always.”

“You kidding me? Of course we’re good,” he said confidently. “I owe you my spot in the administration after that shit with the cutout, you owe me everything after that, remember? That’s no different today.”

“I was _being_ sarcastic when I said that,” he protested, just for the sake of it.

“Pretty sure you meant it, Lovett. Now hurry up and brush your teeth, man, your breath smells like ass.”

The scent of coffee floated in as soon as Lovett opened the bedroom door, drawing him in like a magnet and multiplying his urge to move any faster than a crawl a thousandfold. Jon nearly tripped in his haste to find his jeans among the mess of laundry and sheets on the floor, flipping Lovett the bird when he cackled and left him behind, sweats already knotted loosely around his hips.

He padded in on bare feet, soles making little swishing noises on the tile. The kitchen was empty other than the blessedly ready caffeine, but the drying pan on the counter and the plates in the sink meant Ronan must have made Tommy breakfast. Shaking his head fondly, Lovett poured himself a cup of coffee. He was debating taking a sip and searing the roof of his mouth when Jon rounded the corner.

“Tommy and Ronan?” he asked.

“Other room, probably. They’ll find us, I’ve got priorities and right now they start and end with inhaling this coffee.”

“Cool.” His jaw cracked on a wide yawn. “Hey, get me some coffee too?”

“Yeah, yeah. The thing people don’t respect about my struggle here is, and I say this with all the love in my heart, you’re so fucking _lazy_ in the morning it’s a wonder you aren’t in a coma.” Lovett scanned the shelf until he spotted one of the old Hillary ‘08 mugs, just to be petty. “Here, drink up.”

“Dick,” Jon said mildly, and drained half of it in one go. “You’re just as lazy as I am.”

“Yeah, but I _embrace_ that. Look at me, I _look_ like a lazy person. I don’t parade around with a ridiculous Blue Book of Fairytales prince face, pretending I’m not constantly committing the sin of sloth. That is one of the seven deadlies, isn’t it? I’d think you’d take that more seriously.”

“Hey, you guys are up.” Tommy came in from the other room and cut off Jon’s reply. “You were both pretty crashed out when I got up, so Ronan and I made some breakfast for ourselves. There’s some left in the fridge, if you want.”

“I’m good.”

Jon raised his coffee in a salute. “Hashtag, I’m with him.”

Lovett made sure Jon was looking his way before he rolled his eyes. “It was ‘Working for Change, Working for You’ in ‘08, asshole. Get it right, it’s only _written on the side_ of the fucking object in your hand.”

“Oh, is it?” Jon didn’t look down at the cup. “I thought it was ‘Ready for Change, Ready to Lead’.”

“It was fucking _everything_ , we had a million and they were all absolutely goddamned terrible. It should have been ‘is it obvious we have no coherent message at the top and instead, created all these slogans by committee and you won’t like a single one’, for all the good they did.” Jon’s mouth twitched. “Shut the fuck up, it’s fine when _I_ say it, I worked for her. It’s my fucking mug! And she was my fucking candidate. I’m allowed to make fun of the shitshow.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“ _Whatever_.” He packed the word with as much scorn as possible and turned back to his coffee. “Here goes the texture on the roof of my mouth for days.” He took half the cup in one go, enjoying it despite the competing taste of toothpaste still lingering on his tongue. “Don’t tell everybody else in this room, but you’re my real favorite,” he told the dark liquid seriously.

“First the shower, now coffee.” Jon smirked over the rim of his mug. “Maybe we really did fuck you stupid.”

Tommy made a face. “Come on, man.”

“What?” Jon looked up, brows snapping together in genuine confusion.

“You don’t have say shit like that to him.”

“I always talk to Lovett like that, though.”

“It’s just…” Tommy shifted uneasily and looked to Lovett for help. “Lovett?” He shook his head, raising his coffee and taking a loud sip instead. “Yeah, I _see_ the coffee, asshole. Look, it just...” Tommy sighed. “I don’t know, it seems gross?”

“Why?” Jon pressed, looking more serious than Lovett would have expected.

“Because you _did_ fuck him.”

“Exactly. So did you, man. At the same time as me, even,” Jon pointed out, taking a declarative sip of coffee. “No point in playing coy about it.”

Tommy twitched so hard Lovett was sure he could _hear_ the panicked exit strategy gathering in his brain.

“Oh for the love of god,” Lovett sighed, and slapped Jon’s shoulder with a loud crack. “We did this earlier, let him get a chance to catch up. Tommy, I’m fine with Jon continuing to mistake bullying for friendship. Honestly, I’d be pissed if he decided to change the fundamental principles of our interactions just because last night he had his dick in me.”

“When you put it that way, it makes me seem the asshole here,” Tommy said wryly.

“Not an asshole, _per se_. More… charmingly loaded down with weird straight guy masculinity issues hidden under all the general self-awareness.”

“...thanks. Maybe?”

“Six of one, half dozen of the other.” With a certainty he didn’t _entirely_ believe himself, Lovett waved Tommy’s worries away with an imperious hand, nearly sloshing coffee on the floor in the process. “Look, we’re all adults, not to mention the same people we were yesterday. We weren’t weird then, so let’s just do that instead. In _fact_...” He crooked a finger at Tommy. “Come here.” He moved fast enough it burned like a compliment in the pit of his stomach. “Now, we’re going to kiss.”

“Lovett…”

“ _Tommy_ ,” he countered. “Just do it. Kiss me, okay?”

He cupped his face gently, eyes narrowed in deliberation. Whatever he found must have convinced him, because he relaxed and nodded. “Okay.” The kiss lacked the passion of the night before, more chaste than not save for the too-tight grip Tommy had on his arms. Up this close, Lovett could see the way Tommy’s eyes fluttered closed, sunlight from the window over the sink catching and glinting on the fine white-blond lashes.

Jon reached for him once Tommy stepped away, eyes greedy. “I get one of those too, right?”

“It’s only fair,” Lovett said reasonably, already tilting his head in expectation.

“But not balanced?” He cut off Lovett’s protest about _truly_ shitty jokes with his tongue, looping an arm around his waist to bring him closer. He kissed with the urgency Tommy concealed, leaving Lovett’s mouth swollen when he pulled away.

“There.” He coughed, clearing his throat, shaking off the moment. “What is it your people say, Jon?” He snapped his fingers. “Go in peace, that’s right. So go in peace, knowing you both have had your dicks in me but none of us are going to make it weird, and as of now you are both officially kicked the fuck out. I have a boyfriend to thank.”

“‘Thank’, Jon guffawed. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Remember to tell Emily I said hi,” Lovett shot back, and both of them laughed at Tommy’s following, only barely sotto voce, "did I miss something? I strongly feel like I missed something."

Lovett walked them to the door, trading one last goodbye at the threshold. He stood in place, walking them walk to Tommy’s car, still for a few long moments after the car turned onto the next street. Now that Jon was out of sight he gave into the urge to run a fingertip over the curve of his mouth and the lingering ache of a _really_ good kiss. He felt something in his chest; not quite loss, not quite happiness, just something softer than regret and sharper than satisfaction.

Shaking it off, he stepped away and let go of the door, already shouting for Ronan before the final click sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAND WE OUT.
> 
> (Okay, not really, there's going to be a sequel ASAP, but I managed to keep this particular part at 'ridiculously long' instead of 'holy fucking god, why is it THAT LONG?' levels.)
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who read and commented and left kudos, you guys are goddamned rockstars.
> 
>  
> 
> ...oh right, and I can be found on tumblr @ knowlesian, where I remember to post every blue moon and/or when the earth rotates backwards.
> 
>  
> 
> (And just because I'm currently neck deep in the outline: also coming soon is a vaguely problematic, incredibly tropey Tommy/Lovett contract killer-profiler au.)


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